


Promises We Made

by thekindofworld



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Exes to Lovers, Fashion Designer Louis, Kinda, Liam is Harry's manager, M/M, Musician Harry, Niall is also a successful singer, Slow Burn, Zayn and Perrie are Louis' best colleagues, a whole load of shit goes down, angst with development and a happy ending, this is going up under a new psueds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-03
Updated: 2017-09-25
Packaged: 2018-12-23 12:09:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 35,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11989500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thekindofworld/pseuds/thekindofworld
Summary: Its been five years since Harry and Louis broke up; they were seventeen and nineteen and it was messy to say the least. Cue Louis, who is worked off his feet making clothes for celebrities, Harry dropping his debut album, Niall who likes to avoid his insecurities by dragging Louis on Holiday, Zayn and Perrie as Louis' right hand stylists, and Liam who wishes Harry would just tell him about his ex-boyfriends before he contacts them about working for him.Its either going to be a disaster, or the perfect timing they've all been waiting for.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was up under a different name, but this is going to be my place for my 1d fics now.
> 
> Okay I'm gonna start by saying I know very little about fashion, and have taken some huge liberties here, in terms of Louis' actual job description. But he designs and makes clothes for A Listers, and that's mostly the gist of it. There's more of a focus on the relationships, with gratuitous aesthetics added in.
> 
> Also I'm a larrie, not a houie; the break up when they were young is purely done from a plot point of view, and because this idea wouldn't let me sleep. The fashion thing is mildly inspired by one of my fave fics Three French Hems by 100percentsassy and gloria_andrews, so go read it when you get a chance.
> 
> This is also my first multi-chapter fic for this fandom so please be gentle with me, I'm still learning the ropes.
> 
> Mandatory disclaimer: the depictions of the people in this fanfiction are purely fictional, and don't reflect my views on them in real life...
> 
> Let me know what you think, and as always, thank you. (You're welcome to follow me on tumblr, I'm thekindofworld over there too, and if you go to my promises we made tag, you can reblog the post linking to this fic.)
> 
> D x

“Why don’t I have Gucci office on the phone?”

“They’re – uh, sir, they’re dodging your calls again.”

Louis rasps in a sharp breath and runs one hand through his hair. He hates how his fingers get caught in the day-old knots and greasy strands dangle over his forehead, long enough now to catch on the thick stubble accumulating along his jawline. He hasn’t showered or slept in about seventy-two hours and he’s just about ready to stab Layla, who was supposed to call him back three hours ago, with his stitching needle.

“Fuckin Gucci,” he growls. “Alright, Beth; take an hour for lunch. I’ll sort this shit out when I’m done with this design.”

She drops her pen at lightning speed and shoots him a desperately grateful glance before dashing out from behind her desk and heading for the lift.

Grammy month is always a bit of a high-stringer for him. Other companies want to collaborate, there’s always a huge list of bratty divas bugging his stylists about final designs and wanting last minute consultations. 

Louis doesn’t know why the bloody hell he still bothers.

Well, actually, he does. It’s the only thing he’s good at. And the people on his roster will sue the shit out of him if he disappears and refuses to make them their suits anymore.

Also, he loves it. As much as he hates celebrities and their inferiority complexes, he gets to do it from his penthouse in Canary Wharf on his velvet sofa with a crate of San Miguel and a view of the Thames. To be honest, right now, most of the surfaces are covered in half-assed sketches and discarded pieces of fabric, but it’s sort of the dream all the same.

He adjusts his stance where he’s crouched in front of two versions of the same suit jacket, and narrows his eyes, looking between them both. The one on the left is a stunning royal blue colour with a quirky patch of a glittery shooting star over the pocket, the square a luminescent pink, the silk shining under the ceiling light. The one on the left is essentially the same thing but in reverse, pink with a blue square and a golden star instead of a silver one.

It’s for his newest client; some up and coming new kid on the block. All the manager – Lewis? Lionel? Liam? – had told him, was that the guy is some sort of quirky brit pop artist, and wanted the piece to be bright and unconventional, but not gaudy or over the top. He lets out a shuddery sigh and wets his lips with the tip of his tongue, his brain screaming out for a cigarrete.

His fingers reach out to trace the tailoured edges of the shoulders. This whole process would be a million times easier if he knew the kid’s eye colour, complexion, haircut.

Blue. It’ll have to be blue. He’s too tired and stressed to bother putting any more thought into it.

He slides a hanger into the blazer neck and stands up, only to hiss at the loud crack of his knees and the blood rushing back into his legs. The world goes fuzzy around him for a moment, but with a few deep breaths, it passes and he hooks the suit over one of the many racks cluttering his office.

Leaning against the desk, he gets to rolling two fags, all the while wishing he’d asked Beth to fetch him a brew before he’d sent her off.

He doesn’t even bother fixing his hair or his crumpled Ralph Lauren jumper before stomping off across the lobby to the escalator.

The first intake of cool London air outside the building immediately soothes the storm scribbling a cluster headache behind his eyes, and he huffs grumpily, sitting down on the wall near the artful shrubbery and lighting up.

He’s going to have to give it a rest soon; he can’t go another two days without laying horizontal for a while, and he hasn’t really eaten more than a big mac since Saturday. Its Tuesday now.

He people watches for a while, smoking and waiting for the lunchtime rush to die down so it goes quiet again. It starts raining, but Louis doesn’t have the energy to be pissed off with the sky as well.

Instead, he finishes both cigarettes, orders in a plethora of Chinese food, and texts Niall to come and drag him home if he’s still at work come 8pm.

* * *

 

That night, Louis dreams of his own fingers tucking brunette curls behind small, delicate ears, and a wide smile framed by deep dimples.

He wakes too fucking early to the sound of cars rushing past outside and the rich couple downstairs arguing about a custody agreement. He huffs and stumbles out of bed to blindly make a cuppa and stands out on the balcony, chain smoking and scrolling through Twitter.

It’s stupid, he knows, that he still dreams about him. It’s been five years, and he’s had plenty of boyfriends since then. A few of them idiots, a couple of them he’s been a little bit in love with; all of them, if he’s being honest, fillers for a gap he’s never been able to patch over, even with late nights and busy mornings pouring over silk and chiffon, meetings with A Listers, and far too much alcohol for a twenty-four-year-old heading the most famous fashion empires in Britain.

He doesn’t own it, of course, the brand belongs to some fat old asshole who lives in Dubai most of the time, but the company itself is of his own making. ‘78’ is Louis’ baby, and he’s worked his ass off to build it up from the concrete streets of Doncaster.

When he gets bored of watching his clients gushing about trending on social media, he goes back in and changes into his favourite Gucci pullover and some skinny jeans, rolling them up at the ankles to show off his triangle tat, and stepping into converses.

He grabs a Starbucks on the way to the office, and when he gets in, Beth gestures that she’s finally got Layla on the line. He tells her to patch through, and spends an hour arguing with her loud enough so that passers by know not to bother him. 

He’s a lot less of a spiky asshole than yesterday however, having eaten, showered, and got more than four hours shut eye thanks to Niall dragging him back to his bed around nine-ish last night.

He spends the morning putting the finishing touches to his own appointments, and has Zayn and Perrie bring up their own projects to put on the rack. He takes a picture and posts it to Instagram for PR, and stands back, crossing his arms over his chest and raising his eyebrows.

“If you tell me to change anything right now, I’m going to hide all your baccy pouches and steal your bank card,” Zayn says, watching for his reaction.

“It’s great,” Louis says, shrugging. Perrie narrows her eyes and his lips twitch into a smirk, relief beginning to wash over him. “It’s fantastic. We’ve – you’ve done fantastic.”

“I know, bro,” Zayn grins, winking at him, “three days to go and everything is finished.”

“For now,” Louis reminds them, “until Brad Pitt calls in and requests a three-piece last minute.”

“Fuck off,” Perrie snorts, shaking her head. “Don’t tempt fate.”

“I’m being a good boss, preparing you for the worst.”

“The worst would be finding out one of your anonymous clients isn’t happy with the royal blue.”

“Fuck off,” Louis spits Perrie’s words back at her. “I’m going to implode if that happens, I bloody swear it.”

“It won’t,” Zayn says, “the blue is gorgeous. The lad will love it. If he doesn’t, he has shit taste.”

“Do you have your own outfits sorted?”

Perrie lights up then, her previously dishevelled and nervous exterior switching up for an excited smile as she claps her hands together and nods enthusiastically.

“Red velvet,” she tells them, “bateaux.”

“You know you’ll look off the tits hot in anything, though,” Zayn remarks, coming to stand beside Louis and admire their handiwork from his angle.

“Charming,” she says, raising one perfectly shaped eyebrow, “if it weren’t a backhander.”

“Some of us don’t have an ass like yours to show off.”

“Nonsense. You two assholes know you’ll kill it.”

“All eyes are going to be on us,” Louis reminds her. “Between the three of us we’ve basically kitted out the entirety of the music industry in the space of six months.”

“I know,” Zayn grins again, nudging his arm a little, “how amazing is that?”

“Don’t jinx it. But… yeah,” Louis says, a bit breathless as he holds an arm out for Perrie to slot between them and rest her head on his shoulder, “pretty fucking amazing to be honest. Now we just have to deal with the collections.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reunited and it... doesn't feel so good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think.   
> Thanks, as ever.   
> D x

Over the next twenty-four hours, nearly twenty celebrities send their agents in to pick up their red carpet get ups. Not a single one of them complain, and almost all look impressed. It does wonders for Louis’ ego, but not a lot for his patience, as so many of them ask long winded questions and try to gatekeep and pretend they know more than he does about his own profession.

No one comes in to get their outfit in person, but he makes sure all of Zayn and Perrie’s clients know who to credit.

Its Thursday morning that he almost has a bloody heart attack.

FullStop call ahead to let him know their brit pop kid is coming in personally to take their suit away, which of course makes Louis both nervous and irritated, because he’s spent the most time on this particular suit, and if the guy makes a single comment about the cut, colour, or texture, he’s going to flip his shit.

Regardless, he sends of emails and finalises contracts, attempting to keep himself busy and awake with several cups of expresso and a croissant coated heavily in far too much margarine.

He’s too jittery and pent up to bother trying to work on sketches for The Oscars coming up, so he spends an hour beating Niall on Fifa when he pops in to check how it’s going, and tries not to bug Zayn or Perrie about taking holiday time in the summer.

He’s exhausted most attempts to keep moving when a voice floats through the open door of his office and sets of subconscious alarm bells in the back of his head. He can’t place why though; the voice is drowned out by the music that’s playing in the lobby and Beth’s louder replies.

He’s still got a pack of paper in his hand when he moves to the doorway to see what the fuss is about, and it all slips from his fingers and lands on the ground when he realises why he’s suddenly feeling incredibly nauseous.

“Harry,” Harry says, “I – uh, I’m picking up a suit for tomorrow. Liam – that’s um, that’s my manager. He said I’m the last one to collect?”

Louis world shifts on its axis for a moment and his brain short circuits, the breath leaving his lungs like someone has jackslapped him. Beth is still talking, and Harry – _fuck_ , Harry is talking back in his deep, soft drawl. It aches terribly in Louis’ chest, and his vision swims with stinging wetness.

He’s grateful, somewhere beneath the sheer fucking despair, that neither of them have noticed him yet, and he just… only just, manages to swallow down on the lump in his throat and blink the tears from his eyes, as he coughs slightly and bends, picking up the paper he’s dropped and forcing a professional expression on his face.

There’s no way he’s letting this kill him again.

“Beth,” he says, “it’s alright. The suit is ready. Its right through here.”

Harry freezes where he’s got his back to him. Like, literally fucking comes to a total standstill. He doesn’t even look like he’s breathing.

Then he turns slowly, and Louis reinforces the stony look on his own face, drawing a deep breath in through his nose as discreetly as possible.

Harry is as unfairly and ridiculously beautiful as he’s always been.

No, that’s bullshit. He’s more beautiful, if that’s even possible. He’s lost a bit of weight, put on some muscle. He’s taller too, at least three inches on Louis now. His cheekbones have narrowed where he’s grown into them, and his jawline looks like it could cut glass.

He’s dressed in a floral YSL button down… the buttons _definitely_ down, undone to the start of his ribs, revealing the beaks of two swallows, and the beginning of a butterfly inked just below his breastplate. His sleeves are rolled to his forearms, which are also littered with random tattoos, and the old cross necklace dangling from his neck makes Louis want to choke on his own tongue. His green eyes are wide and stunning, and it hurts like a bitch.

“Sir, this is-”

“We’re acquainted. Styles; you want your suit, right? Come and fucking get it then.”

Harry, who has been staring gormlessly at him the whole time, seems to snap out of it, and dumbly follows Louis where he retreats back into his office and tries not to scream at the way this is happening. Of course Harry Styles is the bloody brit pop baby wanting a bright, unconventional suit for the fucking Grammy awards. _Of course_.

Because the universe has been fucking Louis in the ass for nearly a decade now, why quit whilst its ahead?

“If I’d have known, I wouldn’t have gone with blue,” Louis manages to keep his voice level and his eyes away from Harry’s as he unhooks the suit from the rack and lifts it to show full length.

Harry is still gawping at him though, and it makes Louis want to throw something. So he gets to putting it in a zip up with the usual careful precision.

“It’s all paid and signed for so you don’t have to fuck around with the details. If you don’t like it, tough luck at this point, I’m afraid. I don’t have time to make you a new one.”

“N-no,” Harry finally finds his voice again, “no its – Lou, its _perfect_.”

“Great,” he says, placing the suit on the armchair in front of the television between them so he doesn’t have to hand it to him directly, and trying not to choke up again at how much Harry’s approval still makes him feel like a giddy teenager. “Now get the fuck out of my office.”

“Wait,” Harry says, “you – we should – we need to talk about this.”

“I don’t think so,” Louis still doesn’t make eye contact. “You asked for the suit, I made it, you like it. What is there to talk about?”

“Louis,” Harry sounds desperate now, and it tugs painfully on Louis resolve. He determinedly keeps his eyes on the wall behind Harry, knowing if he sees his face right now he’ll crumble. “Lou, please. This is – you’re being ridiculous. I didn’t know, I swear. If I knew-”

“What?” Louis snaps and Harry winces visibly. The nickname makes something twist and tighten inside of him. “You’d what? You’d not have come?”

“I – that’s not – jesus christ, this is insane. I didn’t – I’m sorry,” Harry gasps, taking a step forward. Louis steps back. “I’m sorry.”

Louis lets out a bitter, harsh laugh.

“Bit late for that, mate. It’s been five years, anyway. What makes you think I still give a shit?”

“You look like you’re about to gauge my eyes out,” Harry seems to gain a bit more confidence now. Louis grits his teeth and refuses to narrow his eyes because he’s _right_. If he didn’t give a shit, he’d be fine. Relaxed, polite, friendly even. But instead, he’s furious.

“Harry,” his name feels like blood on Louis tongue, and he forces himself to ignore his knees where they shake a bit, “are you seriously going to make me call security?”

“For fuck sake, Louis,” Harry exasperates, “can’t you just stop with the stone-cold prick persona and talk to me for a few minutes?”

Louis feels something dark snap in his bones and he steps forward this time, eyes finally narrowing.

“No. We were done talking five years ago. Have a good night at the Grammys. I hope it’s everything you ever dreamed of. Now I’ll ask you one last time; get out of my office or I’ll remove you myself.”

Louis manages to remain upright for the time it takes for Harry to realise he’s not going to say anything else and leave with the suit in his shaking hands, shutting the door softly behind him.

The second the mechanism clicks, he collapses, just managing to grip at his desk to lessen the drop. He’s hyperventilating and everything is spinning around him a million miles a minute, his muscles feel like someone is pulling them taut to breaking point, and his throat has closed over.

He grabs helplessly at his phone to call Niall, but the door opens again and there’s someone crouching in front of him, long brown fingers gripping at his shoulders and hazel eyes trying to make contact with his own.

A voice muffled and waterlogged asks him to breathe but he can’t, and it hurts and it – he can’t see, his face is pressed against denim and the scent – fucking Gucci – assaults his nose, finally grounding him.

Zayn talks him through it slowly, steadily, and he can briefly hear Perrie’s worried drawl from a few meters away, but it’s all just noise to him.

And then it’s over.

He’s back in the room and everything is abruptly, agonisingly solid and still.

“What happened?”

“I don’t know.”

“He – Beth, what the hell happened in here?”

“I don’t know! He was giving a suit to a client-”

“Harry,” Louis manages to croak against Zayn’s shoulder. There’s a few seconds of silence that feel as though they drag on for hours.

“Fuck,” Zayn hisses, “jesus fuck, man; the brit pop kid. Lou, can you stand?”

Louis nods feebly but Zayn still takes most of his weight as he helps him upright again and guides him into the chair the suit had been draped over just minutes ago.

“Get him a bottle of coke and a warm flannel.”

“Z,” Louis gravels, “Z he – he was just _there_. Just right – right in front of me. And he had no fucking idea it was – that it was me making the suit.”

“Alright, babe,” Zayn says softly, “I know. Just try not to talk for a moment, okay? Thanks, Beth.”

He tries to argue that he’s perfectly fine, by Zayn insists on taking him home to rest and confiscating his phone until he’s had at least a few hours sleep and a proper meal. He spends the next twenty-four hours in a state of resignation.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You are cordially invited to The Grammys.

Objectively, Louis had known that their paths would cross at some point.

He’s aware of Harry’s career. Of course he is. He’s too fucked up over him not to be. He might, occasionally, stalk Harry’s social media, google him, read through a couple of articles about his music.

But until now he’s somehow managed to side step seeing or interacting with Harry at all. He knows the schedule for red carpets at events and knows Harry’s typical haunts in London and LA so they don’t bump into each other.

He’s just never paid much attention to taking on anonymous clients; he’d never thought Harry would actually be dumb enough or mean enough to ask Louis to make anything for him. And he absolutely believes that Harry honestly had no idea Louis was involved in suiting him for the Grammys. It’s just a really fucked up coincidence.

Which is something that kind of seems to follow him around anyway.

It doesn’t make it any easier.

The knowledge that for the first time in over half a decade, Harry Styles will be wearing one of Louis’ designs, is really quite agonising if he’s being honest. Harry is the only significant other he’s ever designed for. The boyfriends he’s had since he split with him have all been serious relationships that Louis was very committed to, but it never felt right.

Harry had worn his clothes all the time when they’d been together. Louis had just been an undergrad at Manchester University, and Harry had been a baby songwriter doing his A Levels and dreaming of being a proper, famous musician.

Louis had never had any doubt that Harry would be iconic one day. Despite the bitterness and still very real pain he associates with what had essentially been the love of his life, he still knows Harry is exceptionally talented and astoundingly perfect for stardom. The stage is where he _belongs_.

And whenever Louis does feel weak and tired enough to check up on Harry on the internet, he has never been able to help the infuriating rush of pride he gets when he sees how successful Harry is becoming so early on in his career. He hasn’t listened to his debut album, but he doesn’t really need to, to know that it’s fantastic.

The thing is, if Harry had launched his career like a normal, well-adjusted person, Louis would be fine. He’d follow Harry’s music, probably even still be in touch with him. They might have actually worked.

It’s the _way_ Harry left that had reduced Louis to a total and utter mess for almost two whole years.

He’d just woken up one day to a note on his pillow telling him he’d gone to Los Angeles to meet with a producer that had liked one of his songs, and had never come back. Louis had stopped trying to call after the first three months of no replies. He remembers one night however, about nine months after the break up that wasn’t even really a break up. He’d been blackout drunk for the hundredth time, had thrown up the entire contents of his stomach and more, and was pretty much ready to be hospitalised, when he’d dialled the number again, in a moment of absolute weakness.

It had bounced.

The number deactivated.

Somehow though, that was the kick up the arse Louis had needed to get his shit together. He’d finished his masters in fashion at the University of Arts London, where he’d followed Zayn for a front to assure his mother he wasn’t on the brink of total self-destruct, and caught an astonishingly lucky break.

And here he is. Well respected on the most part, talked about worldwide, and one of the richest people in his profession.

On the up, Harry’s break had come too, and Louis has been directly avoiding him for the entire time, knowing that whilst their jobs might overlap at times, he’d been determined to never have to see him face to face again if he could help it.

Stupid, wishful, naïve way to think, Louis knows, but it’s gotten him this far.

Not anymore though, because surprise! Your ex-boyfriend is wearing one of the best suits you’ve made in a long time on the red carpet whilst pushing out his debut fucking album.

Harry has mostly been writing for people since he went to LA. He’s collaborated with a few, and whenever his vocals have been on certain tracks, the songs have been wildly popular. But apparently, he’s in a place now where he can put out his own shit, and it’s a fucking bane on Louis bloody existence.

“Did you make that? That’s gotta be one of yours,” Zayn remarks as he enters the hotel room and catches sight of Louis where he’s having the finishing touches put on his hair. "Its gorgeous."

Louis can’t help the small, satisfied smirk that twitches on his lips and he shrugs, stretching his arms out at his sides to adjust the closer fit of his blazer, and tugs the lapels in closer over his chest.

Alright, so he’d put a lot of effort into his own look. But it’s his reprieve. After making suits for demanding, snobby, bitchy celebrities all year round, he thinks he bloody well deserves to kit himself out in something nice too. Especially when the big boss whines at him if he doesn’t show his face at the events he’s basically outfitted the entirety of.

The suit is one of his favourites he’s ever designed though. Its bespoke cashmere, black and white checked all over. Bold, beautiful, and classy. The trousers drop just above his ankles, and he wears black leather Derbys on his feet. He’s insisted on having his hair quaffed up away from his face, knowing how sweaty red carpets can get and not okay with having stray strands sticking to his forehead.

He’s shaved for the first time in about three months, which makes Lottie very happy as she applies very subtle contour to his cheekbones. She says they’re his best assets and frequently expresses her envy of them.

“Lottie,” Zayn grins at her, winking and pressing a kiss to her cheek. She rolls her eyes at him, but obliges none the same.

“I have an idea,” she says, pursing her lips. “Highlighter.”

“Lot-”

“No, no. Hear me out, Lou. You have the best fucking cheekbones and its really unfair and all that, but as a make-up artist, I really want to make you pop. You like it when I put the rose gold lid cream on for you, right?”

Louis considers it for a moment. He really doesn’t mind make up all that much; his sister is incredulously talented, and always has him looking like an entirely different person on big events like this.

“Okay,” he nods, gesturing for her to hurry up as he checks his Rolex and notices the cars will be here soon.

“Yes!” she goes to kiss his cheek before stopping herself, not wanting to ruin what she counts as her masterpiece.

It actually turns out pretty fucking amazing if he’s being honest, and Zayn gets her to apply some matte black lippy. There's really Zayn can’t pull off. His quiet yet undeniably impacting confidence is something Louis envies very deeply sometimes.

“Right,” Louis says, forcing himself so swallow the bile rising at the back of his throat and straightening his blazer again, tucking his phone in his pocket and clapping his hands, rubbing them together. “We’ll have to be off. Thanks babe.”

“You owe me,” Lottie insists as he hugs her tightly, and Zayn kisses her forehead once the matte has dried.

“Always,” he snorts, rolling his eyes and leaving the room as she gestures for Alexa Chung to come into the room and get in the chair.

When they get in the car, Perrie is already waiting for them in the backseat.

“Lads,” she grins as Alberto pulls out onto the main street. “How goes?”

“Don’t ask him,” Zayn tells her, looking mildly amused, but mostly a bit frightened for Louis.

“He looks like he’s gonna chunder if he opens his mouth,” she raises her eyebrows. “You sure he’s up for this?”

“He is sitting right fucking here, you know?” Louis growls through gritted teeth. “And he’s fine. I’m a professional. This is our job. Which I’m really fucking good at, I’ll remind you.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re up your own ass. We get it. I just don’t want you to be half way through an interview, spot your ex, and pass out.”

“Jesus, I’m not a Chaucer princess,” he snaps. “Quit fussing over me. Just… keep me occupied and I’ll be all good.”

They don’t talk all that much after that, but Zayn’s warm hand lands on his knee and squeezes, staying there for the duration of the trip.

* * *

 

“Fuck,” Zayn huffs as Louis’ hand shifts slightly where it rests in the small of Perrie’s back, and her head snaps in the direction of Z’s gaze, eyes widening.

“What?” Louis hisses, frustrated and refusing to look the way they’re looking, knowing exactly who they’re looking at. They’ve been placed from a vantage point so they can see the entirety of their entourage arriving on the carpet for photo ops; it’s their job to know their clients movements through the night, and to make sure everything goes off without a hitch. Their names are on the line after all. Celebrities get shat on in magazines for bad fashion choices, but Louis career could literally flop under bad reviews.

“He’s – Louis, you won’t believe this.”

“Well fucking tell me and I’ll let you know.”

“Mr Tomlinson?”

He’s distracted, thank god, in the nick of time, by a young guy with pink hair and pantos lenses perched on his nose.

“Yeah, mate?”

“Can I ask a few questions?”

There’s a mic in the lad’s hand with a Sugarscape logo on it, and his fingernails are painted the colours of the rainbow. Louis can’t help the smile spreading over his lips, and he swallows down on the crushing anxiety in his gut, nodding and stepping forward.

“Course, love.”

“Sorry. I’m wondering, which star that you didn’t kit out, do you think is the best dressed tonight?”

Louis frowns for a moment, contemplating before he tucks on hand in the pocket of his slacks and opens his mouth to answer.

“I’d say Ed,” Louis remarks, and the interviewer raises his eyebrows. “I reckon he’s got it just right for his figure with the skinnies and the burgundy blazer. The shade doesn’t clash with his hair and the fit is good. Polo did a good job.”

“Great! I agree. Who would you most like to dress on the carpet and how would you do it?”

The lad is excitable, carefully trying not to trip over his words, and Louis relaxes his own body language further, hoping it’ll transfer and stepping forward a bit more, reaching out to fix his tie for him where it’s gone a bit skewif, answering as he goes, smirking a little at the way the kid blushes.

“Katy Perry,” he replies. “The all black doesn’t suit her; she’s a big personality, feminine and a bit sinister. You have to work with that. I’d dress her in dark green; always a hit with the blondes, and people love a Slytherin.”

The kid’s eyes light up at the Harry Potter reference, and Louis grins, having noticed the Hogwarts badge pinned to his pastel blue overcoat.

“Again, I agree. Just the last question; everyone’s talking about a certain someone you’ve designed for, and I’d like to ask you how long it took to sketch and make the suit and if you knew who it was for when you were making it?”

He swallows tightly, keeping the grin on his face and wetting his lips, shrugging.

“Styles, right?”

The lad nods, looking sheepish.

“I started drawing it up about seven months ago. I didn’t know it was for him until he came to pick it up, but his manager gave me the brief profile and I went off of that. I have to give credit to these guys though,” Louis pauses to drag Z and Pez into the frame of the camera behind the kid, “they helped a lot. I didn’t even decide fully on the colour until a few days ago. But our work paid off, right?”

“Sure! Absolutely! I mean, he looks stunning, right?”

Louis swallows again and Z’s hand lands in the small of his back, a gentle, warm pressure there.

“He does-”

“He looks like Harry Styles should,” Louis cuts across Pez, letting her know it’s okay and he’s able to answer the question. “Quirky, well tailoured, and vibrant.”

“Of course,” the lad says. “I’ll – you can get off now – bugger, I mean, you don’t have to answer anything else. Thanks so much!”

“No worries, babe,” Louis winks at him, feeling his heart swell a bit at the blush that continues to creep up the kid’s neck. “Love the light blue by the way. Brave, but it works.”

Then he takes both Z and Pez’s hands and moves away to continue watching their art walk the carpet, content in the knowledge that he’s made a young interviewer’s day and feeling less like he wants to jump off Westminster Bridge.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lets have a bit of Twitter, yeah?  
> And a bit of Niall, because he's gr8.  
> D x

**@Harry_Styles** : 

_"Quirky, well tailoured, and vibrant" <3_

Louis pinches the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb and wets his lips, letting his eyelids fall closed.

He sighs heavily, the sound rattling in his lungs.

He’s too fucking old for this shit.

He’s only twenty-four and he’s already to bloody old for it all.

Of _course_ Harry would have gotten wind of the quote, of course he’d be waiting and watching for something to stab Louis in the gut with. Not on purpose of course. Louis still knows Harry doesn’t have a vindictive bone in his body, not really. But this is too much.

Louis prefers drowning in work and fabric to drowning in his past.

He refuses to rise to the bate however, and instead decides to focus on what was really important about the night. They pulled it the fuck off.

 **@Louis_Tomlinson** :

_So proud of **@pez** and **@zaynmalik** for all their hard work tonight !! Couldn't have done it without them._

Once he’s sent the tweet, he locks his phone and throws it on his bedside table, barely hanging his suit up before collapsing amongst his pillows and falling asleep.

* * *

He wakes up to his phone buzzing like mad.

“Fuck off,” he growls, blindly reaching out to slam his fingers down on the screen but missing and knocking it to the floor instead, where it continues to vibrate loudly. He swears again, leaning over the bed with his eyes still squeezed shut to finally grab at it. Falling back against the pillows, he opens his lids slightly and grimaces at the way the brightness burns at his retinas.

“Jesus Christ,” he mumbles when he just about manages to read. It’s his mentions. They’re going bloody crazy and something in the back of his mind knows why before he even opens the Twitter app to check.

He’d forgotten that Harry Styles’ fans are famous in their own right, coined the ‘FBI fandom’, known for their tenacious abilities to pick up on everything in Harry’s life and figure out what it means.

They’d all bloody googled Harry’s quote last night, and found the articles already popping up everywhere reporting on Louis’ comments to Sugarscape regarding his opinions and thoughts on The Grammy’s wardrobe 2k17. He rubs at his eyes to make it easier and less painful to read, and draws in a deep breath before beginning to scroll through.

 **@itsnotthatimportant** :

_my bae **@Harry_Styles** lacking in subtlety as per usual. **@Louis_Tomlinson** #crushsensestingling_

**@gayasthefourth**

_who is **@Louis_Tomlinson** , and does he know harry is his biggest fan?_

**@greatestteam**

_**@Louis_Tomlinson** , **@Harry_Styles** maybe "quirky, well tailoured, and vibrant" will be your always?_

Louis has to stop because he feels another panic attack coming on. He throws his phone across the room, immediately regretting the loud crash it makes as it dents his wardrobe and drops to the floor.

He just hopes to god he really had deleted all of his tweets linking himself to Harry back in 2012. If the ‘Stylinators’ find anything anywhere everything will be dredged up and dragged painfully through the ringer, and god help him if the press get their grubby little fingers on any information.

The moment he started getting anywhere close to well known, Louis had erased all traces of Harry on any of his social media that he could find. It had been in part an effort to protect H, god knows why after the shit he’d pulled; Louis being in the public eye meant that people would be looking for anything to pin on him. There’d been no need for Harry, who wasn’t particularly famous at that point, to be dragged into it as well. And when Harry had hit the UK Top 40 charts for the first time, Louis had checked and H had done the same thing.

But the internet is forever, as people keep fucking saying, and there’s always a chance there’s something that can be used as proof that they used to be together.

Not to mention the fact that Harry isn’t even fucking out yet.

From the increase in speculation about Harry’s sexuality in the tabloids however, Louis has just been assuming that his team are building up to coming out sometime soon. God, what if someone finds something concrete that outs Harry before he’s consented to it? Fuck. Whatever feelings of rage and bitterness Louis might hold for his ex-boyfriend, he absolutely would never want something like that to happen to him. Or anyone for that matter.

The media is cruel to lgbt+ celebrities, and Harry is a soft soul, regardless of his affinity for making bad decisions.

He’s about to start moving when someone starts banging like a fucking lunatic on his front door, and he huffs, tugging on an old t-shirt and padding out of the room to answer it.

“Finally,” Niall gasps as he practically falls over the threshold, gripping onto Louis’ arms for dear life, a breathless grin on his angel face. Louis rolls his eyes, but is unable to keep the grin off his mouth as he closes the door behind them and moves to the kitchen to flick the kettle on. “Mate, twitter is going mental! Why are you being linked to Harry Styles?”

Louis groans, grabbing the box of Yorkshire tea from his cupboard with a little more force than necessary.

“Some kid interviewer asked me about the suit last night. I answered. Styles tweeted it. His fans lost their shit.”

Niall’s eyebrows hit the top of his head as he sits at the island and leans forward.

“Why did he tweet it?”

“Might have something to do with the fact that we used to fuck and it ended in a shitstorm of pain and miscommunication five years ago,” Louis grumbles, wincing at the way Niall jerks in his seat and sits up straight.

“ _What_?”

“It’s not a big deal.”

“Not a big deal?” Niall exasperates. “Jesus fucking Christ, Lou! Why didn’t you ever tell me? Its Harry Styles!”

“Yes, thank you, I’m aware of that.”

“Louis, I work with the guy. You didn’t think it’s something you should have mentioned?”

“I didn’t need to before now!” Louis snaps, dropping Niall’s coffee in front of him and cross his arms over his chest. “It was all bloody fine and dandy until his manager paid me to make him that stupid fucking suit and I didn’t even know it was for him until a few days ago. He just turned up at the office to pick it up.”

“Fuck,” Niall breathes, sipping his drink for something to do with his hands.

“Quite,” Louis snorts, leaning back against the counter and wrapping his fingers around the mug to warm them, letting the heat sink into his bones and wake him up properly.

“So… you just haven’t seen him? At all? Since you broke up?”

Louis swallows and shrugs, not making eye contact.

“Nope.”

“But how? You’re in the same industry!”

“Careful avoidance and some very well placed favours,” Louis remarks blandly, paying no heed to the way his tea burns his throat when he gulps down on it.

“You’ve never had to sign an NDA? I would have thought Payno would have hunted you down and roped you into it.”

“Payno?”

“Liam Payne, Hazza’s manager,” Niall tells him.

“Ah, yes, the twat who got me into this mess in the first place.”

“Don’t be mean,” Niall tells him reproachfully, “Payno is lovely.”

“He’s part of a PR machine, Niall, he’s an asshole by association.”

Niall just rolls his eyes and puts his mug back down, sitting forward again and clicking his fingers at Louis to demand his attention this time.

“We’re going away. Jamaica.”

“What?”

“Yup,” Niall pops the last syllable with his lips as his face brightens again, “you and me, two weeks in Jamaica. You’re going to stop moping and bitching and we’re going to get ratassed multiple times and spend our days recovering in the sun. K?”

“No!” Louis says, looking at him like he’s crazy. His gut gives a small tug at him though, his less sensible mind interested in the prospect of blocking the world out with his best friend for a whole fortnight.

“Yes! C’mon, Lou, it’ll be great!”

“Niall, have you forgotten that you are also an A List celebrity? If I’m about to be involved in some sort of fucked up PR scandal regarding my famous ex-boyfriend’s sexuality, it’s not going to make the situation better if I get papped in a foreign country with _you_.”

“Ah, bullshit. You think too much. Get your glad rags together, lad. Get out of your head. You spend too much time in that genius little mind palace of yours.”

“This wouldn’t have anything to do with your album dropping in two days, would it?”

Niall pauses briefly, anxiety flickering in his gaze. Louis can’t even bring himself to gloat at catching him out. Instead, he sighs and puts his own cup down, moving forward and taking Niall’s hands in his.

“Babe, it’s an amazing album. You’re going to be fine. Everyone will love it.”

“You don’t know that,” Niall insists, sounding far more vulnerable than he did a few minutes ago. “And you can’t lie to me and say the thought of being away from everything for a bit won’t help you unwind.”

Louis closes his eyes and drops his head forward, crown pressed to Niall’s knuckles. He breathes in and out through his nose, the stress and pain and fear whimpering in his chest. Niall’s fingers squeeze at his and finally nudge him to look up again.

“Please, Lou,” Niall asks, and he sounds so small and desperate, there’s literally no way on this earth that Louis could ever say no now.

“Fucking hell, alright,” he snaps, shaking his head and struggling not to grin when Niall literally squeals and jumps across the island to wrap himself around Louis, jumping up and down and jolting him.

Louis needs new friends.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A holiday and a talk.

The sun is hot on his skin, soaking up the left-over droplets of water from his before-lunch dip in the pool. There’s a light breeze that occasionally lifts his hair and trickles across his cheekbones, and Louis feels relaxed for the first time all year.

Beside him, Niall is lounged across a sun chair, sunglasses perched on his nose as he reads from the IPad clutched in his hands.

“I don’t know why you were worried,” Louis snorts. “You know if the general public didn’t buy the album your fans would. They do all that sponsorship stuff and campaign to get people to stream it.”

“You can never be sure,” Niall counters, frowning a little as he scrolls through twitter. In front of them, people play in the water, and the entire area is filled with the sound of children laughing and parents trying to get them to sit still long enough to paste on factor 50.

Louis misses being that young. He misses being able to sunbathe without the awareness that there are camera phones sneakily pointed at him from across the way; he misses dunking the twins in the water and plaiting Lottie’s hair for her so it doesn’t get in her face whilst she’s swimming, he misses his mum… well, he just misses her. All of her. All the time. But most of all now, where families look so carefree and complete.

So normal.

His phone rings, dragging him from his train of thought, and he huffs at a number he doesn’t recognise answering it anyway in case it’s an urgent work matter.

“Louis Tomlinson speaking. Make it short.”

“Are you done sulking yet?”

He freezes a moment, the low drawl washing over him and counteracting the fierce heat of the Jamaican weather.

“Depends,” Louis replies gravelly, catching Niall’s attention. “Are you done bothering me?”

“No,” Harry says, and Louis resists the urge to growl. “We need to talk.”

“You mean you need to talk, whilst I listen and accept whatever bullshit apology you’re extending to make yourself feel better?”

“No. I mean we both need to talk. Together. So you can stop freaking out and I can stop snapping at my entire team because of my shitty mood.”

Louis draws in a deep breath through his nose and swallows, shooting Niall a look that says ‘don’t worry’.

“How did you even get this number?”

“Liam got it for me.”

“Of course he did,” Louis narrows his eyes at Niall, who seems to catch on and immediately looks sheepish. “You couldn’t call during business hours?”

“I did. You weren’t there. Beth says you’re on holiday.”

And of course, Harry is on first name basis with his PA. Of course he is, because Harry Styles makes friends with everyone he bloody meets.

“Usually when people are on holiday they don’t want to be bugged by their ex-boyfriends.”

“Louis,” Harry sighs heavily, “can we be adults about this, please?”

“You mean like you were when-”

“When I _wasn’t_ an adult? When I was a stupid, naïve, frightened kid who didn’t have any idea what they were giving up?”

Louis works very hard to keep his temper in check, focusing on inhaling and exhaling, wetting his lips and pinching the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb.

“What’s happening with PR?”

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t be an idiot, Harry. You linked yourself to me in the middle of your public coming out process. What is happening with your PR goons and what should I expect?”

Harry is dead silent for a long few moments, before Louis hears him swallow and compose himself.

“Nothing. I’ve told them to keep you out of it. All of it. There might be a few low-level articles, but they’ll be the blind gossip people and the update accounts on twitter. The fans will be speculating but the tabloids don’t take them seriously anymore.”

“Shame,” Louis snorts, “your fans are quite perceptive.”

“They’re an intuitive bunch.” Harry’s voice sounds a bit lighter, and Louis frowns at the strange sensation flooding his veins. It’s been a very long time since they agreed on anything.

“I don’t know what you want from me.”

“Just to… I don’t know. I want to explain, but I swear I’m not asking you to forgive me or anything. I just think if we’re going to be working in the same circles more frequently we should be less likely to break down every time we see each other.”

Louis takes a moment to gather himself, resisting the urge to growl before he replies. 

"Come to the office when I'm home. We'll talk then."

* * *

 

“Lou Lou!!”

Louis is tugged from his train of thought when Lux’s voice screams out across the front courtyard and an automatic grin spreads across his face. He crouches, flicking his cig away and throwing his arms wide open for her to run straight at him. She slams into him so hard that it almost knocks him backward, but he manages to remain upright, standing back up with her attached to him like a limpet.

Its only when Harry approaches with a pink duffel and sunglasses on his head pushing his hair back that Louis has to force himself to not start hyperventilating again.

“Where’s your mum?”

“Mummy had to go somewhere. Lottie called her away.”

“Oh,” Louis says, raising his eyebrows, “and she couldn’t take you with her? Had to dump you on me again, did she?”

She pouts and flicks his nose at his teasing, and he laughs a little despite the anxiety twisting in his gut.

“Uncle Harry had to bring me,” she says, and Louis hates the familiarity of those words in her mouth; it’s been a very long time since she’s said Harry’s name around him. Louis had just assumed that Lou had talked with her about not mentioning him.

She’d only been a baby when Harry and Louis had last been together.

“Sorry,” Harry says, looking very nervous and a little hesitant as he smiles that bashful smile Louis knows is reserved, even subconsciously, for him.

“No worries,” Louis lies, “s’all good, right love?” he addresses Lux, who nods excitedly.

“Can we play dress up again?”

“Of course!” Louis tickles her ribs a little, basking in the sound of her high giggles, letting them ground him. “We’ll make you the prettiest little princess in all the world.”

“Not little anymore, Lou Lou,” she insists, “I’m a big girl.”

“Really?” he smirks. "So you won’t be wanting the new dress I’ve made for you then, if you’re too big for it now.”

“Louuuuuuuuuuuu Louuuuuuuuuuu,” she whines, nudging his cheek with her curled up fist and narrowing her eyes at him.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. You can have the dress.”

“Can Harry stay?”

Louis freezes for a moment, swallowing tightly and pursing his lips together, wetting them and composing himself before he looks back at Harry, a neutral expression on his face.

“Lux-”

“Its fine,” Louis cuts across him, “you can stay.”

“Are you sure? Lou, I don’t-”

“I said its fine,” Louis sighs. “Might as well get that bloody talk over and done with whilst you’re here anyway. C’mon, babe,” he switches back to Lux, “let’s go look in the dress up box, yeah?”

Walking back in through the building is a bit awkward to say the least. People keep staring at him with Lux, who babbles away, waving her hands around and telling him about her day so far, and Harry fucking Styles, who is still carrying the duffel and keeps waving and grinning at people in greeting.

“Sir, Shawn’s people are asking for a consultation next Wednesday.”

“Tell them I have a gap at 12:30,” he tells Beth, and ignores the way her eyes flick back and forth between him and Harry, who she allows to kiss her on the cheek on the way in.

“Hey Luxy!”

“Hello,” Lux grins at her, waving both her hands dramatically.

Louis puts her down when Harry closes the office door behind him and she goes straight to his box of discarded ideas. It’s all shit in there to be honest, but Lux calls it her treasure box, which always makes his heart swell a bit, so he never corrects her as she pulls out the strips of silk and colourful jackets that swamp her when she tugs them on. She heard him calling oversized pieces ‘baggy chic’ once, so that’s what she insists she is when she tries them all on.

He goes to help her out, but the phone on his desk rings and he pauses, pursing his lips.

“S’okay,” H says, nodding at the phone, “I can play with her for a bit.”

“It’s not-”

“Lou,” Harry says softly, smiling, “it’s alright.”

“Well then why couldn’t you just take her for a few hours then?” he grumbles. As much as he adores Lux, its true; if Harry is free, he doesn’t see why he needed to bring her here. Its transparent as fuck, but he chooses not to press him on it, instead dropping into his swivel chair and drawing in a calming breath before picking up.

The next hour or so goes on like that. He argues with people as quietly as he can on the phone so Lux doesn’t pick up his expletives, and watches from the corner of his eye as Harry crouches and helps her drape herself in fabrics that cost more than her mum’s entire make up studio.

He tries to avoid acknowledging the warmth spreading through his veins as Harry dimples the fuck out all over the place and Lux’s giggles fill the room. He teaches her dramatic poses and treats her genuine interest in fashion with a respectful seriousness, nodding and asking her to explain some of her choices, watching her like she’s the most interesting person on the planet. Which, okay, Louis could argue she is. She’s incredibly intelligent and deliberate for such a young kid.

The stress of so much conflict with clients starts to grate on him as the time goes on however, and eventually he forces himself to silence the phone and instead pulls his mobile out, standing to move and drop to his knees near Lux and Harry, pulling up snapchat and filming their little exchange, unable to help himself.

“I need plaits!” she exclaims when he’s locked his screen again, “Lou Lou, plait my hair!”

“You’re right!” Louis says, gasping. “I can’t believe we didn’t think of that before, you’re so much cleverer than me, babe. C’mere.”

She comes straight to him as he settles on the carpet and crosses his legs underneath him. He shrugs out of his blazer and rolls his sleeves up like he’s getting ready to do a very important job. She turns her back to him and sits in his lap.

“Y’know what’s also top idea?” Louis says as he reaches for the brush poking out of the duffel. "Lunch.”

“M’not hungry.”

“You gotta eat though, love,” Louis insists, glancing up at Harry pointedly to communicate what he’s trying to do. Harry catches on immediately and nods.

“I’m going to go get us some nice stuff to eat, yeah?”

“Sushi!” she says, clapping her hands together, “I want sushi!”

“Bloody six-year-old wants sushi,” Louis tuts under his breath and Harry snorts, leaning in to press a kiss to Lux’s forehead, his hand coming to cover the back of her crown for a moment. Louis tugs in a sharp breath as discreetly as he can, but regrets it immediately because at this proximity, he gets a huge whiff of Harry’s cologne.

He grits his teeth and swallows tightly, forcing himself not to make eye contact with Harry as he pulls away and stands, running on hand through his hair.

“You gotta do Harry when he comes back too!”

Louis buries his face in her shoulder and lets out a soft groan, shaking his head a bit. Harry lets out an awkward laugh, clearing his throat.

“How about you do it, honey?”

“But Lou Lou does it best.”

“I know,” Harry says, with a quiet sincerity that makes Louis want the carpet to swallow him up. He used to plait Harry’s hair for him all the time, lounged against each other on the sofa of Louis’ poky little Donny flat watching whatever ridiculous rom com Harry had picked for them at the time. He remembers the way his fingers used to slip so easily through the curls, how calming the process had been, how quiet and warm, how Harry used to make small noises of peaceful contentment.

The reason he’s so good at plaiting Lux’s hair is because of all the time he’d spent doing Harry’s.

Honestly, he bloody hates this whole stupid thing.

“But you can practice to get as good as him. I’ll be back soon.”

Lux makes a noise of disgruntled acknowledgement and goes quiet as Louis gets to work on her hair, separating it into two even segments.

She stays pretty much silent as she plays with the Barbie in her hands, constructing her own very complicated up do. Its only after a few minutes that she speaks, and when she does, it sounds a bit hesitant, like she’s been thinking very carefully about what to say.

“Lou Lou?”

“Yes, love?”

“Do you and Harry know each other?”

He breathes in through his nose and swallows, not letting his hands stop where they’re weaving the first French plait on the left of her head.

“Not for a while,” he tells her, knowing she’ll pick up on it if he tries to lie.

“How long?”

“About five years,” he says softly, wetting his lips.

“Were you friends?”

“Very good friends,” he finds a small, sad smile curving the corners of his mouth. “We used to live together.”

“Wow!” she replies, going to turn her head to look at him but remembering he’s still styling her hair. “Mummy never said. Don’t you like each other anymore?”

Louis closes his eyes, hanging his head for a moment, finally letting his fingers still as he tries to slow his heartbeat a bit.

“Sometimes,” he manages, his voice coming out a bit gravelly as he starts plaiting again, “adults drift apart and make bad decisions. You know what that means, right, love?”

“Yeah,” she says, “like when I cut my own fringe last year. Mummy says that was a bad decision.”

He lets out a small, breathy chuckle, eyes stinging a little under the emotion swirling in his chest, a mixture of sadness and love.

“Well me and Harry used to love each other a lot. But we drifted apart and made some bad decisions. So, it’s been a little while since we talked. It doesn’t mean we hate each other. It just means we don’t really know each other very well anymore. Does that make sense?”

“I think so,” she says thoughtfully as he ties a hairband around the finished plait and starts on the other one. “But you’re going to be friends again, right?”

“I – I don’t know, darlin. Maybe. It’s really complicated. We love you though. You know that.”

“Duh,” she says, doing a cocky little gesture with her hands, “everybody loves me. I’m the cutest.”

He laughs properly now, feeling some heavy weight lifting off of his shoulders.

“You’re right,” he says, “but you’re getting too big for your boots.”

She nudges him in the ribs and he considers himself told, getting on with finishing her hair. Harry comes back about ten minutes later, and Louis nearly has a coronary when he hands him a Styrofoam box containing his Subway order. Or, what used to be anyway. He doesn’t really go there anymore, finds it hard to stand at the counter and ask for the food he most associates with his ex-boyfriend.

He doesn’t let his internal crisis show though, just nodding his brief thanks and letting Lux scramble off his lap to accept the sushi Harry’s bought her.

Harry himself has a cheese and bacon melt from Starbucks, with some sort of iced concoction Louis is sure he’s never heard of.

H snaps a picture of their legs all crossed in a circle with their food laid out between them as Lux starts talking about how her teacher at school says sushi is dangerous to eat in case of food poisoning but she eats it anyway because it tastes too good. Louis doesn’t know if he’s comfortable with being up on Harry’s Instagram; even if his face isn’t in it, he’s sure Harry’s fans will track him down from some minute detail.

But he reminds himself that he’d snapchatted Harry and Lux earlier, from his public account, and huffs at himself for being a hypocrite and also cursing himself for lack of self-control, instead stuffing the sandwich in his mouth and pretending it doesn’t taste like home.

They don’t directly interact until later on in the day, when Lux has tired herself out and curled up on the sofa near the large office windows. Louis drapes a fleece blanket over her and sits back at his desk, and they don’t even need to agree on what happens next.

Harry sits on the chair opposite and brings his curls forward before ruffling them, and pushing them back again, sniffing and swallowing, fingers fiddling with that bloody peace ring he doesn’t look to have taken off since Louis bought it for him when he was sixteen.

“Let’s be clear, you are coming out soon, right?”

“Yeah,” Harry draws in a shaky breath, smiling sheepishly, “been hinting at it for weeks, testing the waters in interviews and stuff. But, uh, I guess you already knew that.”

Louis absolutely does not blush in embarrassment. He’d hoped Harry hadn’t picked up on that whilst they were on the phone in Jamaica.

“Hard to ignore; it’s all over the bloody tabloids.”

“Liam and Jeff say they’re thinking about summer.”

Louis flicks his eyebrows up and sits back a bit, wetting his lips. He likes it this way, sat in his big chair behind his big desk with a certain amount of space between them. He’s in his own domain, he has the power and he’s a much better actor than he used to be.

“Are you nervous?”

“Like… now, or about coming out?”

Louis snorts, rolling his eyes and allowing himself a small smile, shaking his head.

“Coming out.”

“I mean, I’m shitting myself.”

“Naturally,” Louis nods once, respectfully. He knows it’s scary. People are mean when they don’t want to understand things.

“I mean it though, I told them I don’t want you dragged into it. Your career is going so well right now, Lou. I would never want to like… ruin that.”

“You think being romantically linked to the biggest upcoming musician in the business right now would be bad for my career where I literally dress people like you for a living?” Louis remarks, watching the way Harry ducks his head and shrugs.

“I know I fucked up. Its fine if you hate me, and I just assumed it would be, y’know, a bit of an inconvenience for you, to be associated with someone you um… aren’t so keen on.”

“I don’t hate you, jesus you’re such a drama queen.”

Harry’s head snaps up, green eyes wide.

“That surprises you?” Louis frowns, feeling a sting shoot through his chest as the weight of the eye contact attempts to crush him.

“Yes!” Harry exclaims, gesturing wildly, “of course it bloody surprises me. You look at me like you want to stab me in the throat. And not even in the fun way.”

Louis chokes on his own saliva a little, coughing and trying to decide if he wants to laugh or growl, taken aback by the way Harry’s sudden and ridiculous sense of humour is still exactly the same; random and based primarily on innuendo.

“I don’t want to stab you in the throat. In any sort of way,” he insists through gritted teeth. “But I don’t understand what you’re expecting from me here, H. It’s been five years, we both have whole other lives now. It ended in a way that fucking destroyed me, so I had to entirely rebuild myself. Looks like you did too.”

Harry’s breath visibly hitches when the old nickname slips off Louis’ tongue before he can catch it. Then his expression settles slightly, into something mildly grateful?

“I did,” Harry confirms, wetting his lips. Louis forces his eyes straight on, willing them not to follow the movement.

“Well I think that’s really all that needs to be said. What happened messed us both up, but we got over it and lived our lives anyway. Look, Haz,” Louis sighs, sitting forward and trying to keep his breathing steady, adjusting his blazer a little, “you know I always – fuck, I _always_ want the best for you. I’m really glad you’re doing well and that you’re coming out, and I’m proud of you. But I don’t know you anymore, and the last thing I need right now is you coming back into my life and dredging up everything I worked on sorting through for half a decade. I think you respect me more than that.”

“I do respect you, Lou,” Harry says, a desperate edge to his tone, “so much.”

“S’appreciated,” Louis grumbles blandly, “so maybe we can just agree to try and put it all behind us and be civil adults?”

Harry has that look on his face that’s so heart shatteringly familiar, Louis feels like he’s been transported back to 2010. He only ever looks like that when he’s in pain and trying very hard to conceal it.

“What are your rules, here?”

Louis tries not to wince at the sharper point to Harry’s deeper drawl, but lets himself feed off of it, emulating the more detached aura that falls over them.

“We both have a job to do. Its most likely going to overlap; we have some of the same friends. It would be a lot easier if we could agree to be professional and courteous about it.”

“Have you ever used that word in your life?”

“Fuck you,” Louis deadpans. “If you want me to design for you, I’ll do it. That’s my job after all.”

“I won’t ask you to do that again. It was an honest mistake last time.”

“Settled then.” Louis glances at Lux where she stirs a little in her sleep. “Civil professionals.”

“If that’s what you want,” Harry huffs in a long, tired breath, face completely void of Harry-ness now.

Louis forces himself to lie convincingly this time.

“It is.”

“Then that’s what we’ll do. It’s getting late, I better get Lux back to Lou.”

“Course,” Louis nods again, “I’ll walk you out.”

“No need.”

Harry lifts Lux carefully so as not to wake her, hooking her bag over his shoulder. The tenderness in contrast to their previous conversation has Louis fighting back sudden tears, and he gulps down hard on the lump in his throat.

“Oscars next, right?”

“Yup,” Louis says. “See you then.”

“Probably,” Harry replies. “Bye, Louis.”

“See ya later.”

The door closing behind him should feel like closure, but it just feels like it did five years ago.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More talking. They need to do loads of that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you.   
> D x

Louis walks home.

There’s something comforting about the cold of the London night and the light rain blowing in the wind, sticking to his face and matting his hair to his forehead. The smoke from his cigarette mingles with his breath in the February air and he stops near the Thames, sitting on a bench for a bit and watching the lights reflect off the surface of the dirty water.

When he finally gets into the apartment, his head feels too messy to go to sleep, and his fingertips itch for a pencil and notepad.

Hours later, his phone pings on the table beside him and drags him out of the trance he always goes into when he’s sketching. He sighs and sits back, taking a long swig from the barely touched glass of red and doesn’t look at his screen straight away. Instead, his eyes flicker down to his messy handwriting and mass of drawings littered all over the page.

Something in his stomach twitches when he looks over the bespoke lines of the blazers; it starts off with a traditional tailoured classic, but something had felt too typical about it and he’d abandoned it for something more original. Something special.

Over the course of another three designs, it had turned into a cropped fit, a close but comfortable stitch around the shoulders, no pads, to be worn over silk or satin and fall just at the curve of the waist. It’s the pattern that strikes him though, long diagonal stripes all the way across the fabric in the colours of the rainbow. They’re drawn to be like faded brush strokes, blending into each other subtly, complete with a golden bee broach pinned to the lapel.

In his mind, he sees it working with a black oxford shirt that’s loose and light and drops to the hips, probably Gucci, with dark skinny jeans and dark blue Chelsea boots.

It’s a statement; fashionable and a bit punky where the sleeves should be pushed up to the elbows, but bright and beautiful and unique.

And basically a pride flag in the shape of a blazer.

Just to kid himself, he sticks it in his Miles MacMillan folder, mentally insisting that he’s going to keep it back for him for the Met Gala or something. He knows it’s a lie, but it feels like a day for lying to himself.

Taking the glass to the sink in the open plan kitchen, he tips the rest of it down the sink and grabs his phone and baccy from the table, padding out onto the balcony and wrapping himself in his black shearling as he goes.

He doesn’t bother looking through his mentions or Instagram comments this time, knowing they’ll be full of people freaking out about his snapchat and Harry’s Insta picture earlier.

Drained and all sketched out, he drops off the second his head hits the pillow.

* * *

 

Louis tugs at the lapels of his black blazer and wets his lips, smiling courteously as Rita talks to him and three other people about her newest single and working in Brazil for the MV. His fingers come up to adjust the black turtleneck and then run once through his hair, pushing a stray strand from his face and nodding, other hand clutching at his pint.

Around him, other people mingle, scattered out around the dimmed purple and blue lighting of the club, some sat in booths, some at tables, some stood, filling the dance floor but not particularly dancing so much as moving subconsciously to the music that plays; just loud enough for it to be a party, but quiet enough so they don’t have to shout to hear each other.

He still gets a little twinge of self-satisfaction when he gets E-vites to these things. The fact that someone thinks he’s relevant enough to be put in a room with a bunch of musically gifted big shots is always good for the ego, and he’s in his element. He hasn’t had to dress everyone tonight, although he sees a few people dotted around wearing his shirts or one of Perrie’s dresses, so he gets to listen to gossip and judge outfits.

“Heads up,” he knows it’s Zayn’s hand that presses softly to the small of his back without having to turn his head; he smells his cologne and feels his natural warmth where he stands close and speaks quietly in his ear.

Louis gets what he’s referencing straight away and straightens a little, hand tightening around his drink. Zayn smiles at Rita and Nick, taking their hands and kissing their cheeks, letting them talk for them.

“Wanna go out for a smoke?”

“Nah,” Louis says, keeping his voice level, “its fine. I was expecting it anyway.”

Within minutes, Harry’s distinct laugh carries across the room and Louis throws himself into the conversation with his friends, distracting himself as much as possible. But the muscles continue to tense at the bottom of his spine where Zayn’s hand remains, and eventually his fingers trail across to squeeze at his waist gently.

“C’mon, bro, you need a cigarrete before you snap.”

Louis sighs and nods, making his excuses and taking a fag from his pack, dropping them back in his pocket and tucking it behind his ear, allowing Zayn to thread their fingers together and lead him outside. They sit on the wooden benches and Louis lets the cold night air wash over him and clear his lungs before he fills them with harmful chemicals.

A few minutes in, his phone pings. Its Niall letting him know he’s just got here, and Louis lets him know to come out back.

“Lads,” Niall’s Irish drawl grounds him immediately, and Louis grins, coughing when Niall slaps him hard on the back in greeting.

“Oh shit, the Leprechauns arrived.”

“Fuck off,” Niall claps back at Zayn, accepting the cig Louis offers him. “How goes anyway?”

“Fine and dandy,” Louis huffs, wrapping one arm around his own waist and relaxing his wrist, toking heavily and wetting his lips.

“Who shat on your chips?”

“Guess,” Zayn snorts distastefully, and recognition dawns on Niall’s face as he hops up on the bench beside Louis and lets him rest his head sideways in the crook of his neck.

“Saw him when I came in,” Niall says, “thought you might be out here because of that.”

“I’m out here because I wanted a fag,” Louis insists, narrowing his eyes.

“Course you are, mate,” Niall humours him, and Louis doesn’t need to lift his head to know he and Zayn are sharing knowing smirks of sympathy.

“I thought you talked to him.”

“I did,” Louis frowns, “doesn’t mean it doesn’t feel like shit still.”

“Oh, Lou,” Niall says softly, free hand landing on Louis’ knee, “you need to get over this. You can’t hate him forever.”

“I don’t hate him,” Louis huffs. “That’s the fucking problem.”

“He’s different now. He’s a good guy.”

“He’s always been a good guy. That’s another bloody issue.”

Zayn chortles a bit, rolling his eyes, hand coming up to stroke through the back of Louis’ hair for a couple of seconds before his palm goes flat and he presses a kiss to the top of his head.

“Maybe you should let him explain. It might give you some closure.”

“Would _you_ let him explain?” Louis raises his eyebrows. Zayn’s brow furrows and Niall’s squeezes his leg gently.

“I don’t know, bro,” Zayn says honestly. “I reckon I’d be angry too. But I don’t think I’d be angry for this long. Doesn’t mean you can’t be though. Everyone’s different, innit.”

“I don’t even think I’m angry anymore,” Louis sighs, sucking on his cig again and breathing out slowly, watching the smoke curl with his breath in the air where it escapes his lips, and his own hand comes up to scratch absently at the stubble on his cheek. “I think it’s just habit. Have you ever loved someone so much you didn’t think you could live without them, and then they force you to and it’s like… so disorientating you don’t know how to process the realisation that you actually can? It’s horrible. Its fucking shit. I wish I’d never met him.”

“Nah you don’t,” Niall smiles, thumb rubbing over the curve of his kneecap above his black skinnies.

“No,” Louis admits, “I don’t.”

“S’been five years, babe, don’t you think you should face it head on now?”

“I hate you both for being so bloody clever, y’know?”

“We’re play acting,” Zayn grins at him, “Niall’s shit at confronting his feelings. He still hasn’t told Beth he’s got a huge fucking crush on her. S’the only reason he comes by the office so often.”

“Uh, shut up,” Niall says, popping his chin back and looking offended, “maybe you should stop ogling Payno’s ass and grow the tits to talk to him?”

“Does everyone know Liam Payne?” Louis blasts exasperatedly, “jesus I feel like I’m the only one that doesn’t live in his anus. Does it smell of flowers or something?”

“More like grass on a spring day,” Niall snarks, and Louis shoves his elbow into his ribs, causing him to double over slightly.

They finish their cigarettes and both of them lift their eyebrows in surprise when Louis is the first one to stand back up and straighten his blazer.

“Well, c’mon then, lads, we’re supposed to be at a party, right? We’re supposed to mingle.”

“Louis-”

“I’m fine, Zayn,” he says as solidly as he can manage, gathering all his determination and fixing them both with an almost genuine smile.

“Alright, mate,” Niall replies, mirroring him, “if you say so. Just give the word and we’ll go back to yours if you need to though. I’m up for a film and a six pack any day, you know me.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Louis says, fixing his hair again and gesturing for them to follow him back inside.

He makes a beeline for Rita and Nick again, despite the fact that Harry is now stood with them, animatedly discussing something that appears to be very funny. The three of them approach naturally, Niall kissing Rita’s cheek and winking at Nick, who blows him a kiss. He pretends to catch it and put it in his pocket.

“Lewis,” Nick says in his sarcastic northern drawl, “you’ve met young Harold here, right?”

“H,” Louis nods, offering a casual, brief smile. Harry looks sheepish, and very much like he’s trying to remember their conversation about being civil.

“Alright, Lou?”

“Perfect,” Louis replies, nodding at Zayn when he squeezes his shoulder and tells him he’s going to get them more drinks.

“Nialler,” Harry grins, dimpling out and reaching out to offer Niall a one-armed hug.

“Hazza,” he says, eyes sparkling in the way everyone’s do when they have Harry’s attention.

“We were just talking about you actually,” Nick remarks. Louis stomach drops but he doesn’t let it show in the slightest.

“Oh?” Louis says, clearing his throat slightly as Zayn hands him a new pint, taking a sip. He can feel Harry watching their exchanges, and a selfish part of him makes him wrap an arm around Zayn’s waist and look at Rita. “What have they been gossiping about?”

“Your Grammys.”

“Shit luck, I don’t have one.”

“Louis,” she reprimands, “you know what I mean. We were talking about your genius and how you made the entire night with those outfits.”

“I’m a modest soul,” he says dramatically, smirking, “and Zayn here did a lot of it, with our Pezza. They’re my angels.”

“Gaaaaaay,” Niall rolls his eyes, and Zayn pinches his bum, making him squeak and jump.

“You don’t have a modest bone in your body,” Nick snorts, “but I hate to say Rita is right. Harold reports you made his quirky little blue number.”

“Yep,” Louis says, shrugging, “gave me a bloody migraine that one did. Too stubborn; I kept having to alter it. Couldn’t make up its mind, you see.”

He’s proud of himself for that one, even if he knows he’s being an outright asshole. Zayn coughs to hide his inappropriate laugh and Niall sighs heavily. Rita just looks a bit awkward, like she knows there’s a double entendre at work but doesn’t have the information to understand it. Nick seems to be filled in though, and purses his lips to hide it. Harry’s eyebrows flick up a bit and his mouth lines out, pouting.

“It wasn’t my fault Liam didn’t tell me anything.”

“I know,” Louis says, “worked out though, didn’t it?”

“I suppose,” Harry replies, clearly confused and a bit pissed off.

“How about Ed though?” Nick jumps in, distracting everyone and breaking the stilted silence. Rita helps recover, and Zayn joins in this time, speaking for Louis, who sort of stares pointedly at the floor and nods along, adding a small comment in now and again.

“M’going for another cig,” he says a little while later, tightening his arm around Zayn before releasing him.

“You want me to come with?”

“Nah, I’m good. Stay and chat.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, babe, no worries,” he smiles. Zayn frowns a little, like he’s trying to read him, but lets him go anyway, nodding.

“Text me if you need me.”

“Will do.”

Then he’s off, trying to stamp down on the adrenaline rushing through his system and weaving between the various bodies, smiling and kissing cheeks occasionally but not stopping.

The first toke of the cigarette is heavenly and he tips his head back, exposing his face fully to the light spray of rain catching on the air, clustering in the stubble on his cheeks and chin. He closes his eyes and waits for his heart to slow down and his blood to settle to the point when he doesn’t even flinch when someone sits down beside him.

“I’m not apologising,” Louis says simply, without opening his eyes.

“I’m not asking you to,” Harry says back, and Louis hears him spark his own lighter and let out a long, slightly shuddery breath. The sound that comes with it is full of exhaustion and regret. “I just thought we’d settled it.”

“We had. Have. Jesus, fine. I’m sorry. I’m being an asshole. I’m still trying to figure out how not to be a prick around you.”

“It’s understandable, Louis,” Harry sighs, “but I’m not going to let you talk to me like that forever; especially not in front of our friends. I do have some self-respect.”

“I said sorry.”

“And I accept your apology. But you’re confusing me. I thought we agreed to be civil.”

“Haz,” Louis’ voice cracks a little, and he finally opens his eyes and lets himself look properly.

Harry’s dressed in a white silk shirt, loose on him but not bulky or droopy; custom Gucci, buttoned down to his breast plate like before. His hair falls over his shoulders, past his collar bones now, the curls catching a little on the lace detail of the open collar. His skinnies are ripped at the knees and he’s wearing Gucci Horsebits on his feet. Must have some sort of promo deal with them.

If someone had told him five years ago that Harry would be rocking high fashion retailers with long hair, he would have laughed in their face. It’s a far cry from the masses of hoodies and chinos he’d favoured when they were baby boyfriends. He doesn’t know which makes his heart hurt more; the adorable little curls that used to gather at the back of his neck and the baggy fabric of a Jack Wills jumper, or the stunning fabric of the emblemed Gucci shirt and the glinting collection of quirky rings littering almost all of his fingers.

It’s a real nasty bitch that he’s equally attracted to both versions of Harry Styles. But its nothing he hadn’t expected, if he’s honest with himself.

“I know, Lou,” Harry replies softly, ducking his head in the same way he used to. “Maybe you should yell at me properly or something. We haven’t actually talked about what happened yet.”

“That’s because I don’t have a fucking clue how to without hurting you.”

“I – Lou,” Harry says, finally looking up, gorgeous green eyes glistening with tears. Louis feels his insides turn to mush. “You can’t be worried about hurting me anymore. I broke your heart. I think I can take you yelling at me if it means you’ll stop feeling like you want to die every time we’re in the same room.”

“That’s a bit presumptuous, Harold,” Louis remarks in a resigned tone. “I don’t actually want to scream at you, you know? I don’t think it would solve anything. I can tell you right now, I was angry for a long time. I couldn’t understand it. I didn’t know how you could just walk away like that. I thought we were stronger, I thought we were on the same page. I thought you cared more than that.”

“I did,” Harry says, turning his body towards Louis, who sucks on his cigarrete and finally sits forward, forearms resting on his knees. “I did. Honestly. I – I was really scared. I didn’t know how it would work. I didn’t even know if I’d get anywhere with it. And I was so young. I know that’s – that’s not an excuse. But you – you have to believe me, Louis, I loved you so much. So fucking much. I don’t understand it myself, really. But it wasn’t easy. I didn’t ‘just walk away’ without caring about it. I nearly suffocated without you. But once I’d done it, it didn’t feel like I had any right to come back. The longer I left it, the harder it got to think you’d ever want me again. And then it was just… easier to shut it out you know?”

“So, you disconnected your phone,” Louis assumes, surprised to realise his chest doesn’t feel like it’s caving in.

“Yeah,” he says, “it got too painful to keep getting your voicemails. I could never bring myself to listen to them anyway.”

“If you had, you’d know I would have taken you back,” Louis croaks, shaking his head where it hangs a little between his legs, “in a heartbeat.”

There’s a moment of resonant silence, before Harry drags in another shaky breath and flicks his cig sideways, lighting another one.

“You were a fucking coward, Harry. You know that.”

“I do,” he admits softly, “and I’m sorry. I’ll spend the rest of my life regretting it. But Louis, I worked really hard to get over it, and I know you did too. So I reckon we really need to find away to be in the same room as each other without shit like this happening. Otherwise it’s going to destroy us both all over again.”

“I don’t trust you.”

“I know you don’t. I’m – I don’t expect you to. I don’t even expect you to be my friend. But I don’t think I can manage just being civil with you, Lou. Not with – not with our history. It feels like such a cop out. And I’m really, really done copping out of things.”

“S’weird,” Louis says with a small amount of mirth behind his tone, “we were literally only together for a year. I don’t get how that was the be all and end all.”

“Some years are longer and more packed up than other years,” Harry considers, “and we were really, really in love. Like, it was embarrassing, in retrospect.”

Louis snorts, and it says something about how much this conversation, as vague as it’s been, needed to happen, because there’s no way he could have found it funny otherwise.

“We were,” Louis can’t help the small breathy chuckle tumbling from his lips as he smokes. “I don’t know how anyone could stand to be around us.”

“Looks like nothing much has changed,” Harry gestures behind him, clearly in reference to their friends, who they’d made to feel incredibly awkward without even really trying.

“Eh, I’ll say sorry later on. Niall and Zayn are used to me anyway.”

“I think you should apologise to Zayn,” Harry looks a bit dejected now, and Louis frowns.

“Why?”

“If I was him and my boyfriend and his ex behaved like that right in front of him, I’d be pissed.”

It takes Louis a moment to catch on before he realises what the fuck Harry’s going on about, but then lets out another little bark of laughter, shaking his head. Harry frowns, looking mildly offended again, thinking he’s being made fun of.

“No, oh my god,” Louis says, struggling to talk a bit, “jesus, no. Zayn’s not my boyfriend.”

Harry’s frown deepens.

“But you-”

“Yeah, sorry about that. Another asshole move from me. We are that tactile, but we’re just friends, and I was acting up to piss you off.”

“Nothing new there, then,” Harry remarks deadpan, narrowing his eyes. A moment later though, Louis spots his lips twitching at the corners. “Christ, Lou, how are you so different but still the same?”

“I could ask you the same question, love,” he says, and when he breathes in properly, he can’t believe the overwhelming relief of the weight being slowly inched off his shoulders, lifting off his chest, loosening his muscles and leaving him a bit dizzy and overwhelmed. Suddenly it feels like the shit he’s been carrying around with him for half a decade is finally dissipating, leaving a funny feeling in his stomach and strange wetness at the corners of his eyes.

“People don’t really change though,” Harry says. “I think they just learn. Deep down, we feel things the same way we always have, just with more knowledge and experience to deal with it.”

“Calm down, Ghandi, you’re still a baby.”

“Piss off,” Harry nudges his knee, smirking a little and running one hand through his hair, pursing his lips before dragging on his cig and looking directly at Louis again. “I’m glad we had this talk. A proper one this time, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Louis says, smiling back, genuine for the first time since they reunited.

“I mean there’s – there’s loads more I want to say to you, but I think this is good, right? We’ve uh… made a breakthrough?”

“Harry,” Louis says, more solid this time, “you can unclench. We’re good. No more eggshells, alright?”

“I’m really happy, Lou,” Harry tells him, grinning, the dimples still hurting a bit in Louis’ soul. But he’s anticipating it this time, so it doesn’t ache quite so much. “I’ve missed you a lot.”

“That’s cause I’m a gift to this world, innit,” he says, pretending to flick his hair over his shoulder.

“Modest as ever,” Harry tuts, nudging his shoulder this time. They finish their cigarettes in relative quiet, but it’s comfortable this time, feels more shared than grappled and bitter, and when they return to the party, their friends take one look at them both and breathe their own sighs of relief.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Triggers for the mention of a homophobic slur. Its not actually said in the text or dialogue, but it is implied that one of the paps shout it. 
> 
> And more development.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, as ever.  
> D x

A week later, Louis wakes up to a text from Harry.

He’d given up and added the name to the contact number after the party, and realised that it’s actually therapeutic. Having that name in his phone again feels like moving on, finally, and it’s kind of nice to know that if he does feel like addressing something they haven’t talked about yet, he can do it.

‘I have a request. H. x’

Louis sighs and swallows on a dry throat, sitting up against his headboard. He scratches absently at his tummy and thinks for a few seconds, before typing out a reply.

‘Shoot. x’

‘Liam wants me to be more open about things with the fans, let them know more about my past. I don’t want to tell them anything about our relationship, but I wanna post a throwback. It’s a picture of us. Is that okay? x’

Louis frowns, wetting his lips and huffing at the unruly spike of adrenaline hitting his blood. This is a bit much considering he’s only just woken up, but something in his gut is telling him to just say yes. It might actually quell some of Harry’s fans from digging on them if he gives them a solid acknowledgement that they were at least friends when they were younger.

And there’s a stupid part of him that’s missed being up on Harry’s social media.

‘You still have pictures of us? Also, happy birthday. x’

He remembers. It’s still in all his calendars. That’s one thing Louis’ never been able to forget.

‘Of course! Sick memories, man! And thanks! Is Insta okay? x’

Louis ignores the phantom pain twinging in his chest.

‘Go ahead. x’

He locks his phone then, needing a cig before he looks at Instagram and has to deal with whatever happy memory Harry’s planning on handing to the general public. He doesn’t have a right to be pissed off though, he had just agreed to it.

Instead, he pads out through the living room, making himself a strong coffee and opening the French doors to the balcony, welcoming the hit of chilled London air. Below him, people walk fast with briefcases in hands. A few of them jog along the Thames in gym gear, ears plugged with music, sweat matting in their hair.

Its normal and nice and being out here watching everyone else always calms him down.

* * *

 

He comes back from the bar with two drinks, one beer for himself, and a martini lemonade for Harry.

He wordlessly places the drink down in front of him with one hand, and without registering it, drops a hand on Harry’s shoulder where he’s sat on the stool at the table, talking to Zayn. Harry doesn’t say anything, but he subconsciously leans back ever so slightly so his spine is resting lightly against Louis’ chest.

Louis nods himself into the conversation with Oli, who’s talking animatedly about his new Adidas modelling gig. Louis gives him some pointers on colour and stance, Luke teases him about being famous now, and all the while the warm pressure of Harry soothes Louis, draining the tension from his limbs. He sips at his drink and lets happiness wash over him.

About twenty minutes later, Harry shifts a bit and Louis steps back one, letting him stand, his hand slipping from his shoulder to his waist before sliding off and tucking itself in the pocket of his jeans. Harry makes eye contact with him for a second, his face neutral, and Louis winks affectionately at him.

It’s only when Harry’s actually out of sight in the toilets that Calvin pipes up.

“You two are so _creepy_ ,” he says, making a face. “I’d forgotten how creepy you are.”

“What?” Louis says defensively. “I’m just standing here talking.”

“No,” Oli snorts, “he means how you communicate.”

“I don’t get it?” Louis frowns, and Zayn turns his snort into a cough, pursing his lips in apology.

“Mate,” Niall says, “you sync up.”

“We don’t even know each other that well anymore.”

“Yet you knew what he’d want from the bar without asking him,” Luke shrugs, sitting back a bit and raising his eyebrows as though daring Louis to deny it. “And you knew he was going to the loo without him saying anything, didn’t even have to excuse himself.”

“Because it was obvious!” Louis insists, incredulous. “When someone stands up from the table at the restaurant you just assume they’re going for a piss!”

“Or leaving,” Calvin puts forth, “or going for another drink, or a cig, or to throw up bad food. But you just knew. Didn’t even say anything.”

“You’ve all got your rose-tinted goggles on,” Louis huffs, refusing to let the blush of heat crawl up his neck to his face, pouting.

“ _We’ve_ got our rose-tinted goggles on? You’ve barely stopped touching him since we got here,” Zayn remarks, and Liam sits forward a bit over the table where he’s placed beside him.

“He has a point, Louis,” Liam says. “Harry is always dead focused on whoever he’s talking to, it’s one of his best traits. But I swear whenever you’re around it’s like its divided in half because he’s always aware of you if you’re in the room.”

Louis shifts uncomfortably, not making eye contact with anyone. It’s not his fault this is just how they are. It’s not like it’s something he has control over. Harry is just… Harry. Its… fuck, it’s written into his DNA. It is not his fault that five years hasn’t changed that. It isn’t his choice. And if he tries to push against those instincts he just starts to get antsy and his skin gets all itchy and weird and irritated and his chest aches.

“Shut the fuck up,” he hisses at them just before Harry comes through the toilet door.

“Mate,” Liam says with a hint of amazement, “see, you knew he was coming before he opened the bloody door.”

Louis discreetly flips him off, glaring at him. He smiles when Harry returns to the table though, completely unawares.

“Everyone good?”

“Spiffing,” Calvin says overenthusiastically and Louis stamps on his toes under the table, grinning through gritted teeth when he barely avoids yelping in pain and giving them all away.

“Great,” Louis says solidly, an edge of warning on his voice for the rest of the group, who all immediately school their expressions and shut up.

They settle back in after that but Louis feels awkward and keeps a couple of centimetres between himself and Harry at all times. He hates the way Harry looks confused by it, picks up on something being wrong, but it’s not like he can just voice it now when everyone is together.

Harry gets a text when the snacks they’ve ordered arrive and he gets all fidgety and keeps looking over his shoulder out the glass windows that make up the front of the restaurant. Louis gives in and eventually presses a hand to Harry’s shoulder again. Harry looks up in surprise and Louis tucks one cig behind his ear. Harry picks up on it and nods, standing and moving with him to go out back.

“Spit it out,” Louis insists as he hands Harry his own cigarrete and a lighter. Harry sighs heavily and sits up on the benches, lighting up and looking nervous.

“Jeff called the paps,” Harry tells him, toking heavily, “they’re going to be here in a few minutes.”

“Did you tell him you didn’t want him to?”

“He’d already done it,” Harry shrugs, a level of resignation to his posture.

“Can’t Liam do anything?”

“Jeff’s a bit higher up than him,” he says.

“What a prick.”

“He’s lovely,” Harry’s brow furrows, shaking his head, and Louis hates the fondness that no doubt leaks into his own expression.

“He just called the paps on you without asking you first, H.”

“Yeah, but its business. Jeff is my friend too. Same with Liam. But this is just their job. It’s mine too, really. It’s – its fine,” Harry insists. “I guess it’s just part of the strat. Keeps my face in the papers whilst the album is selling.”

“Even when you don’t want it in there?”

“It’s – Lou, I’m used to it. It’s okay.”

“Clearly it’s not,” Louis replies, sucking on his cig and gesturing at the tension in Harry’s shoulders.

“You can leave,” Harry says finally, and clearly this is his biggest reservation about the whole thing, “I know you’re not keen on this whole thing.”

“Harry,” Louis sighs, stepping into his personal space, “I don’t give a shit. They can say what they want about me. They already do, in fact. But if it’s not what you want, I don’t want it either.”

Harry’s eyes flit over his face for a few seconds before he lets out a long breath and shakes his head again.

“I’m alright,” he says more solidly this time. “Are you?”

“What do you mean?”

“You got all weird after I came back from the loo.”

Louis swallows and wets his lips before huffing out a small, breathy laugh.

“Our friends are assholes, that’s all.”

Harry’s brow creases again and his lips pout out a bit.

“What did they say to you?”

“The usual. We’re too close for two people who don’t even know each other that well anymore. We’re too aware of each other. Too in sync.”

“Does… that bother you?”

“It didn’t,” Louis says with a hint of frustration to his tone, “until they stuck their big noses in.”

“I don’t think we have to explain ourselves to anyone,” Harry shifts a little, running one hand through his hair, clearly thinking hard about something. “We’ve always done too much of that and we don’t owe them anything. Especially when we’re still trying to figure it out ourselves.”

“I know.”

“Do _you_ think we’re too in sync?”

Louis watches Harry’s face. There’s a hint of hurt in his eyes, a hesitancy, a fear. Louis hates it. He hates that Harry’s negative emotions still directly correlate his own. He lets out another sigh and steps in further so he’s basically stood between Harry’s legs now, his free hand landing on his knee over the fabric of his skinny jeans.

“I think we are what we are. And it’s no one else’s business.”

Harry looks like he’s battling with something for a moment before he nods once, ducking his head a bit. Louis smiles softly, rolling his eyes and cradling the back of his head with his hand, ducking his own to press a kiss to the top of Harry’s crown. His fingers fizzle with electricity and muscle memory where they touch the familiar curls for a second, but he lets go almost immediately and sits down beside him on the wooden bench, waiting for him to finish his cig before they go back in.

The paparazzi arrive a couple of minutes later, and they get some funny looks from the other people in the restaurant. Harry looks embarrassed for all of two seconds before Louis stands close against him and wraps an arm around his waist, squeezing gently there once before settling, continuing to laugh and eat and drink with their friends, ignoring the way their eyes linger occasionally on Louis’ hand at the curve of Harry’s torso.

The silk fabric is soft under his touch, and under that the natural heat of Harry’s body relaxes him and allows him to mostly block out the camera flashes dimmed slightly by the distance of the shots.

It’s only when it’s time to leave that he feels the almost forgotten sheer force of his Harry protective instincts. Because Harry looks anxious and tense and it’s not fucking fair. Liam tries to look apologetic, but Louis keeps glaring at him, even when Zayn narrows his eyes in disapproval at Louis behaviour, and gives up.

He takes his own coat from the waiter, and Harry’s too, handing it to him and tipping the staff generously.

“You know the drill,” Liam says, switching into manager mode, “don’t look too much like you want to die, smile if you can, keep your head down like they’ve ambushed you, and don’t stray from the group.”

“We’re good,” Louis says quietly in Harry’s ear where his hand has returned to the dip of Harry’s waist. Harry swallows tightly and nods once.

“C’mon then, lads,” Calvin says, whilst Niall grumbles about how his team won’t be happy he didn’t warn them he’d be in the pictures too.

Louis takes the front of the group naturally, arm still around Harry as he pushes the heavier door forward on its hinges and they step into the small swarm of cameras and people yelling.

The questions are normal to begin with, but then they get nasty and Louis feels anger swarming in his gut as they walk as quick as they can manage when they’re surrounded by people. There are a few fans there too, clutching their IPhones but not daring to shove them in Harry’s face like they normally do, not with Louis shielding him.

Harry’s security are waiting at the two black SUVs Liam has called for them. Liam’s focusing his attention on Niall, who is also getting a small bulk of the attention, stepping in for his absent manager.

They’re nearly all in when Louis catches wind of a homophobic slur.

His gut churns and his teeth grind and his arm tightens around Harry.

“Fuck you, mate,” he snaps at the pap in question, and the camera flashes immediately get more frenzied and they’re about to close in properly when Paul, Harry’s head of security, steps in and guides them into the car, slamming the door shut behind them.

They’re all a little damp where it’s been raining, and Harry cheeks are flushed from the cold, eyes a bit wide and glassy, breathless and trying to swallow. Louis grits his teeth again and pulls him in against his body, hand solid on his back, rubbing up and down in soothing motions as Harry buries his face in Louis’ neck, hands gripping tight at the lapels of Louis’ Gucci bomber.

“Fuck, Haz,” Liam says from the front seat, “I’m so sorry. It wasn’t supposed to be that manic. I’m – I’ll have words with Jeff in the morning.”

“Stop talking,” Louis snaps. “Drive.”

Paul meets Louis eyes in the wing mirror, nodding once, stiff, before starting up the engine and pulling out of the car park.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short but sweet with a bit of angst.

That’s the first night in five years that Harry sleeps in Louis bed.

The thought of sending Harry home to his own apartment on his own when he’s in that state is too much for Louis to even consider, so he tightly gives Paul his address and he doesn’t say anything to Harry as they get ready for bed. He gives Harry his most oversized hoodie to sleep in, and just wears his own t-shirt, the both of them stepping out of their trousers and climbing under the covers.

They lay in the dark for a long time, facing each other but not talking. Harry’s eyes eventually flutter shut around 3am, but Louis is too full of adrenaline to sleep. Instead, he watches the moonlight cast over Harry’s face, highlighting the tips of his cheekbones, the hollows soft under shadow, lips pink and poised in a gentle line.

Louis never, ever thought he’d be in this position again, watching Harry Styles dream, studying the lines of his face, the moles on his cheek, the long nose, the baby curls clustering around his ears even when his hair has been pulled back into a loose bun.

Something feels alive in his chest, something he thought he’d forgotten, something he thought he had said goodbye to when he was nineteen.

Harry stirs a bit, a small frown creasing his forehead, and he burrows deeper into the mattress, arms tightening around the part of the duvet he has tucked against his chest and neck. Louis remembers that. How Harry had always subconsciously cuddled into something when he was resting without Louis around to pull close.

He swallows on the lump in his throat and shudders out a shaky breath. Because letting this feeling in again also means letting that pain back in, everything he’d worked to get over just to survive the day.

He closes his eyes and slips lower down on the bed, laying his head on the pillow properly and shifting a centimetre closer to Harry, stretching his leg a bit so their knees are touching, the warm pressure there a guilty pleasure he doesn’t have the strength to deny himself in the moment.

A few minutes later, he falls asleep.


	9. Chapter 9

**H_STylesUpdates:**

_UPDATE: Harry @ The Rose last night w/ Niall Horan, Zayn Malik, Liam Payne, Louis Tomlinson & friends. L had iron grip on H. Paps shouted homophobic slur. Louis: “fuck you, mate”_

**H_STylesUpdates:**

_UPDATE: One of the friends is Calvin Rodgers. Recently signed a twelve-month modelling contract with Adidas activewear. He & the other 2 grew up with L._

**H_STylesUpdates:**

_UPDATE: Pictures of the group inside the restaurant show Harry laughing and smiling. Fans said H and Louis were closest the whole time._

**H_STylesUpdates:**

_UPDATE: Louis & Harry knew each other when they were younger & recently reconnected. Louis made Harry’s outfit for the Grammys._

**H_STylesUpdates:**

_UPDATE: Louis is the creative director at 78. He came out as a gay man in 2015. Fans speculating he and H used to be together._

Louis leans back on the beach chair and lets out a long, soft sigh, a small smile playing at his lips as a light layer of sweat gathers in the curves of his body and the sun beats down on his skin.

He hasn’t taken this much time off work in years, but he’d taken a whole week to make sure things would be handled without him for another fortnight, and he’s needed this. The time he spent away with Niall a couple of months ago had been incredibly therapeutic, and this is the 2.0 of that, plus the strange new group of friends he seems to have accidentally accumulated.

Niall is still lounged beside him, but Harry sits to his right, rubbing sun cream over his tattoos and squinting a little, sunglasses perched on his head where they’re keeping his hair back. Louis gets tired of watching him huff at not being able to see, and eventually sits back up and grabs the dark green headscarf he’s not using, taking the sunglasses away and sliding them onto Harry’s nose, tying the scarf around his head instead. Harry smiles at him wide, and Louis pretends it doesn’t tingle in his stomach.

“Paps got wind,” Liam approaches with his phone in his hand, dripping head to toe where he’s been in the pool with Zayn. Harry’s smile vanishes but his body doesn’t shrink as much as Louis’ expecting.

“Great,” Niall grumbles, “this keeps bloody happening. Two secs.”

He sends a text off to his own manager, and Louis forces himself not to freeze up, remembering that they’re here to relax. And the whole thing works better if you pretend the paparazzi aren’t there.

He settles back down on the chair and runs one hand through his hair, bringing his knees up a bit and reaching for the cocktail he’s been nursing.

They’ve come away to celebrate both Niall and Harry’s albums going platinum in the UK. Zayn has struck up quite the friendship with Harry and Liam – who Louis is still sceptical about – so he’s tagged along too, and if Louis is being honest, he’s having a fucking amazing time.

Every time he goes to his phone to check on work, Zayn slaps him hard on the thigh; strict instructions from Beth, apparently. Niall and Harry have never looked more in their element, after a whole two months of nothing but album promo. They’re both going on tour soon, so this is their no man’s land of timeout before everything is full on again.

It’s weird. The whole thing is weird. If someone had told Louis four months ago that he’d be holidaying in Santa Eulalia with his ex-boyfriend, he’d have laughed at them and then tried to stab them with his stitching needle. As fate would have it, he's trying to figure out how it’s taken such a short time for him to basically fall back in love with him.

He’s not even denying it anymore. Not to himself, at least. It’s pointless. He hasn’t told anyone else though.

Normally he would have told his mum, but she’s permanently unavailable, and he’s had a hard time trying to imagine what she’d say.

She’d adored Harry when they’d been together. Immediately she’d known the two of them were a force to be reckoned with. A hurricane wrapped in a sunset, she’d once said. And even when Harry had left him, she’d sighed very heavily and pretended that she wasn’t crying. Always told him that they were still very young and inexperienced, that when the time was right, they’d come together again, and it’d be stronger and more beautiful than ever before.

Louis doesn’t feel like its beautiful. He feels like he’s tired. And frustrated. And pining after his best friend again.

Because that’s what they are at the moment, he’s sure.

Best friends. Like they’d been the second they had met. Different and the same; gravitating towards each other always, laughing and crying and moving like magnets.

If he’s applying things to the way they were back then, he’d have spoken to Harry about this immediately. Told him everything, fearlessly, trusting him with everything.

But now it’s like… its shakier. Like the ground is a bit uneven and he can’t tell if he’s walking in a straight line or tumbling around all over the place.

Louis catches the quick glint of a camera lens but no flash this time, about a hundred yards away. But he doesn’t react, just takes a long drag on the orange straw poking out the top of his glass.

“You good?” Harry frowns at him where he’s sat crosslegged on his own beach chair, facing Louis.

“Yeah,” he replies, and for once it’s almost 90% true. He’s in a beautiful country under a hot sun, with his favourite people in the world. “Just thinking.”

“About what?” Harry asks, lips twitching, tilting his head a little in curiosity.

“This,” Louis says, gesturing around them, “us.”

“Hmm,” Harry says, wetting his lips, “like what?”

“I don’t know,” Louis shrugs, struggling a little, lowering his voice so only the two of them can hear what he’s saying. “I guess it’s just a bit surreal for me.”

“Lou,” Harry snorts, shaking his head, “you think this isn’t ridiculously implausible for me too? I honestly thought I’d never have a conversation with you again, let alone get to come on holiday with you.”

“Sap,” Louis tuts, ignoring the blush creeping up his neck and the soft sensation in his gut.

“Touche,” Harry grins, dimples deepening. “I missed you, you know? When I didn’t see you for all that time. I didn’t even know how much until I saw you again.”

“Touche,” Louis admits, allowing himself a small smile, reaching out to pat Harry’s knee softly, not giving a shit if the cameras picked that one up either.

“S’nice,” Harry says, “reckon s’what we need.”

“I forgive you, y’know?” he finds himself blurting out slightly. Harry’s mouth parts a bit and Louis can hear his breath hitching. He runs on autopilot, sitting up again and taking the sunglasses off Harry’s face so he can look him in the eye, temporarily stunned by the green of the irises under the golden sun.

“Lou-”

“No, really. I forgive you. I know you don’t need the forgiveness because its been a long time and-”

“Louis,” Harry interrupts him more solidly this time, shuffling forward so they’re a bit closer, maintaining the eye contact, “that means everything to me.”

“Harry, you know I hate power imbalances. I can’t stand it. You shouldn’t be like… waiting for me to trust you again. I don’t – I don’t want you to be beating yourself up still. You were – we were really fucking young when the shit blew up in our faces.”

“I know,” Harry says, “and I honestly forgave myself mostly about a year ago. I just… it’s nice to hear you say it. I like that you trust me again.”

“I do,” Louis says, “almost, anyway. I don’t know. It’s hard to figure out. Bloody hell, I don’t even know if I should be saying any of this right now. It’s the worst time. We’re supposed to be chilling out.”

“This is chilling out,” Harry insists, “I’m way more relaxed now than I was two minutes ago. And don’t pretend you’re not telling me all this to distract me from the paps.”

Louis opens his mouth to retort, but catches himself, brow furrowing as he pouts. Harry laughs a bit, shaking his head and rolling his eyes.

“You’re still really predictable you know? I know I used to say my favourite thing about you was that you’re spontaneous, but emotionally you’re still really easy to read.”

“Piss off,” Louis huffs, flipping him off. Harry just laughs again, playfully pecking a kiss to the top of Louis’ finger. He retaliates by poking him in the ribs, flashing a self-satisfied smirk at the way Harry cringes in on himself, a loud, inhuman squeak escaping his lips.

“Lads,” Niall says, “stop flirting unless you want to be plastered over The Sun tomorrow.”

They are, but Louis can't bring himself to care all that much. 


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another important conversation, and a road trip.

The door clicks behind Louis and he drops his bags, drawing in long breath and collapsing against it slightly, closing his eyes and tipping his head back. He feels the air run through his lungs and back out again, relaxing his muscles and loosening the heavy fog of jet lag.

He drops his Saint Laurent duffle down by the sofa and goes straight for the balcony, lighting up and looking out across The Thames, eyes adjusting to the slightly more garish sunlight.

Tomorrow, he’ll be back at work, but today he has the time to shake off the travel mode and revaluate everything from the past week.

Santa Eulalia had been gorgeous.

Warm sun and busy market streets, beautiful food and beautiful people.

It’s only then that he remembers to check his Twitter for the first time in seven days. His notification bar shows over a thousand mentions, and he cringes a little at the variations of pap pictures. He doesn’t even want to know what The Sun has printed.

What he focuses on, are the edits of the mass of group selfies Niall had taken of them all visiting various landmarks, doing stupid shit on the beach, downing shots in clubs.

Louis had met with a couple of designers for collaboration agreements whilst they were there, and the boys had whined the whole time he’d been out, clingy little shits. But he has a load of exciting new stuff to get started on tomorrow, and his mind has kept slipping back to that blazer in his Miles file.

Something in his gut does a little tingle every time he pictures the finished piece in his head, and he can’t help but go to it now when he’s finished his cig, sitting at the kitchen island and rifling through the papers until he finds the sketches.

There’s a lot of things he wants to focus on in the next few weeks in preparation for the MTV video awards show coming up next month, but this is something he’s decided on now, and there’s just… there’s no going back.

His thumb hesitates for only a second over the name before he swallows the doubt and presses down.

* * *

 

That Friday, Lottie calls him and insists that he come home for the weekend.

After cussing her out for waking him up at 8am, he grumbles out a huffy agreement and hangs up, defiantly avoiding touching any of his duffle bags or doing anything productive until two hours later.

Instead he spends the morning burning bacon and sausages and devouring them anyway, and watching a shitty re-run of Jezza. The tv is still on, a blonde woman screaming about a DNA test before Jezza proves to a shocked audience that she’d faked the entire pregnancy for money, when there’s a knock at the door.

Louis sighs, distractedly shoving the t-shirt in his hand into his Gucci travel bag and going to answer it.

He’s not particularly surprised when he finds Harry stood in his doorway, a smile of greeting curving his lips. Louis doesn’t even say hello, just leaves the door open for him to enter and close it behind him whilst he goes straight back to packing his laptop and some stuff he’d promised to bring the twins the last time he’d visited.

“Going somewhere?”

“Home,” Louis says. “Lots is whining at me because I haven’t seen them in ages and I didn’t manage to get back for mum’s birthday.”

It’s only meant to be a throwaway comment but he senses Harry’s posture changing, and zips the bag up, standing up straight with his hands on his hips and a frown on his face.

“What’s up?”

“Just uh – I don’t know, I mean… I guess I haven’t really asked about everyone yet.”

It takes Louis a second to realise Harry is referring to the Tomlinson-Deakin clan.

“No worries, mate,” he insists, “not a big deal.”

“Kinda is though,” Harry says awkwardly, ducking his head a bit and shifting his feet, the buckles of his Valentino Chelsea boots scuffing against each other. “I probably owe them an explanation for everything too.”

“You don’t owe anyone anything, Harry. I’ve told you, it’s in the past.”

“Yeah,” Harry says, letting out an exasperated huff, hands slipping out of his pockets and doing a weird little gesture in the air, “exactly. In the past. Did you know I didn’t even – I didn’t even know Jay was dead until December last year? Niall mentioned it in conversation before he knew we used to be a thing.”

Louis… well, Louis sort of freezes. His breath hitches in his throat, which suddenly feels tight and his eyes swim a bit. He swallows as hard and discreetly as he can and tugs in a sharp breath through his nose, hands moving from his hips where his arms cross themselves over his chest and he blinks, wetting his lips before forcing himself to make eye contact with Harry.

“I’m sorry you had to find out like that.”

“No,” Harry insists firmly, stepping forward one. Louis thinks he’s got whiplash. This morning has been kind of angst free, full of soft procrastination, someone else’s weird babygate scandal on tv, and dashing about because he left packing to the last minute again. “Don’t you dare apologise to me. I – it’s my own fault, I know that. I just… we were talking again in March, I should have said something during her birthday. I knew something was up that day you were ignoring everyone’s calls. It didn’t even – fuck, it didn’t even register. I should have remembered.”

“Okay, you have to stop with the ‘I should have’ bullshit, because it’s ridiculous,” Louis shakes his head, the shock of momentary pain leaving him with mild frustration. “It doesn’t help anyone. There’s a bunch of stuff I should have done differently too. There’s no point in dwelling on it now. Mum died, it was fucking awful, lets agree we were both at fault for why you weren’t around for it, yeah?”

Harry’s lips part like there’s something else he wants to say, to argue with Louis maybe, battle it out for who’s fucked up the most. He decides against it though, and shuts his mouth again, nodding once.

“Good. Look, H, I know you probably came round here for something but I don’t have much time and Lottie’s gonna tear me a new one if I’m more than half an hour later than the time I said I’d be there.”

Harry seems to shake off whatever tenseness had settled between them, and blinks a few times himself, nodding again.

“Right. Right, sorry. Of course. I was just gonna ask if you wanted to get coffee, help me choose a stylist for MTV, but don’t worry. Go on.”

He smiles, dimples returning even if it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Something turns in Louis stomach and he can feel a potentially bad idea forming in his own head. He grits his teeth at his own lack of self-control, and speaks before he can stop himself or think about it too much.

“You could come with?”

Harry’s eyes – honestly how fucking stupidly beautiful – widen and he opens his mouth again, stunned.

“Lou-”

“You don’t have to,” Louis backtracks, panicking and hating himself a little bit, “y’know, you’re a busy lad, right? Tours to plan and rehearse for, people to see, busy bee-”

“Louis,” Harry lets out a small, surprised chuckle, grinning, “I’d love to come. I’ve missed everyone so much. I bet the twins are so big now!”

“There’s another bloody set of them,” Louis grumbles and Harry’s eyes get impossibly wider.

“No way!”

“Yeah, gorgeous little shits run rings around us all.”

“How young are they exactly?”

“Nearly four,” Louis says, running a hand through his hair, “mum had them just before she got – well, you get the gist. They’re little miracles to be honest. Love em more than anything. Pheebs and Daisy adore them.”

“Christ,” Harry says, blowing air out through his cheeks as his shoulders slump a bit, “jesus fuck, I missed so much. They’re thirteen now, right? And Fizzy, shit, she’s gotta be coming up to eighteen?”

“Yeah, she’s moving out here next year actually. Got a job and everything. Lottie’s sorted out a flat for her. But uh… if you wanna see them all for yourself we need to get a move on because I promised Lots I’d be there for two ish.”

“Shit, yeah, I’m gonna make us late.”

“It’s not a problem. She’ll forgive me the second I hand you over to her. They all will.”

“They don’t even know me anymore, Lou.”

“Try telling that to the posters Fizz has of you on her bedroom wall. I’m pretty sure Dan, Lottie, and the twins have copies of the album too. Trust me, all thoughts of massacring me for tardiness will vanish the second they get their hands on you. C’mon then, you need to pack still.”

“Got a duffel by the front door,” Harry shrugs, following Louis to the door after he turns the TV off and grabs the keys of the kitchen counter, “being me kind of means I have to be ready to travel on short notice.”

“Right,” Louis smirks, rolling his eyes as he locks up behind him and they make their way down to the car park, “forgot you’re an international rockstar now.”

“Piss off,” Harry snorts, kicking at the heels of Louis’ Vans, “you make a living off of people like me.”

Louis flips him off as he chucks the bag in the back seat and settles in behind the wheel, Harry dropping in beside him and fiddling with the adjustments for a second where his lanky legs get slightly crushed by the dash and glove compartment.

Harry gives him directions to his apartment in Canaletto whilst texting Liam informing him of their impromptu trip to Doncaster and sorting out the re-arranging of some prior commitments over the next few days.

He waits in the car when Harry goes to get his shit together, taking the small gap of time to calm down a bit and relax under the nervous energy gripping tight at his muscles.

This is most likely a very bad idea.

He’s already struggling with his resurfacing feelings for Harry, and there is a lot of shit they have yet to talk about regarding his mum and the rest of the family. Not to mention the fact that they haven’t even touched on Anne and Gemma yet. Louis doesn’t know where they are or what they’re doing now, let alone how they were affected when they split up.

But when The Chainsmokers start crooning through, Louis opens the window and lets the cool summer breeze wash in. He drops the sunglasses from the top of his head over his eyes and centres himself, focusing instead on where is best to grab some snacks and drinks from and whether he’d be better off on the M1 through Nottingham, or the M11 through Peterborough. 

Lottie calls just as Harry is getting back in the car. He looks like a fucking supermodel in a gorgeous silk bowling shirt that is definitely Allessandro Michele’s doing, embroidered with tiger appliqués and busy with a colourful floral print. The fabric blows a little in the wind, billowing a bit where he’s got half the mother of pearl buttons undone, as usual. Louis has tried to tell him that the shirts aren’t actually supposed to be worn that way, but Harry, ever the peacock, apparently insists on having his tits out all the time.

He winks at Harry as he closes the door behind him and gestures to the parrot device, putting one finger to his lips.

“Have you left yet?”

“Fuck sake, I’ve just passed Hampstead Heath, alright?”

“You know what you’re like for being late,” she drawls through the speakers, “not my fault you can’t get your ass in gear when you’re meant to.”

“Oi,” Louis snaps, rolling his eyes as Harry puts a hand over his mouth to hide his amusement, sniffing and scrunching his nose. “Respect your elders.”

“I will when they’re on time,” Lottie retorts but he can hear the affection in her voice.

“I’ll be on time,” he says, “and I’m bringing you a surprise.”

“Um, okay, what the fuck? Has Zayn been letting you mooch his weed again? Because he wouldn’t let me touch it last time and I’m not okay with this double standard.”

Harry’s shoulders shake where he’s trying to hold in a giggle and Louis rolls his tongue around his mouth, narrowing his eyes.

“Take your issues up with Zayn in your own time. I haven’t been on the wacky baccy, Lottie, I’m driving for goodness sake.”

“Alright, alright,” she says, “keep your hair on. Why are you bringing me a surprise? You never do nice things for me without a reason.”

“That’s rude,” he says, pointing his finger at the speaker as he pulls out into East Finchley, taking a detour to Hendon Way Tescos, “I’m tempted to drive the surprise back home and not bother.”

Harry looks like he’s going to burst with the effort not to laugh or say anything.

“That sounds awfully like my surprise is a person, Louis William Tomlinson. I hope you’re not teasing me right now.”

“I’m always teasing you.”

“Fair point,” she says, voice thick with suspicion. “Fine. Just be here for half two, I’ve booked us a table at the pub for dinner at four.”

“Behave yourself till I get there,” he says, then hangs up. The second his finger hits the button, Harry starts laughing, and Louis can’t help joining him, shaking his head again and tensing his lips to try and stop with the massive grin threatening to cover his mouth. He gives up and flicks the radio back on, leaving Harry in the car this time, as he fills up on petrol and nips in to pick up a couple of big bags of Doritos, two sandwiches, and two cans of coke each.

Then that’s it. They’re on the main road to Doncaster and there’s not really a way of turning back now. He’s committed to it. Fuck.

For a second, about an hour in, Louis has to really focus on the road because he feels like he’s been transported back to 2012 when he and Harry used to take weekend road trips to Birmingham or London.

The sun is reflecting off the bonnet, hot through the glass but pleasant with the wind blowing through the open windows, running it’s cool fingers through Harry’s curls whilst Nick plays a collection of summer chart toppers.

He remembers the sweet smell of grass mixed with the burn of tarmac and Harry’s cologne, the metal of the glasses perched on his nose, the warm caress of the sun on his skin and the soft pressure of Harry’s fingers laced loosely with his between them. The sense of elated, casual joy he’d gotten out of long stretches of road ahead of them in his shitty little red Corsa, the scattered toffee wrappers around them and discarded cans of lemonade. The soft laughter that caught on the air and scattered like petals in the fields around them whilst they sang at the top of their lungs to Katy Perry or the Black Eyed Peas.

It’s so, so different now.

There’s still the hot beat of the sun and blue skies generating that unique tingle of exhilaration in his stomach, there’s still the smell of tarmac and pollenating flowers, there’s still the freedom of the highway ahead and snack wrappers littering the door pockets. But there’s a space between Louis and Harry that had never existed back then.

He’s driving a luxury white Range Rover Evoque, head to toe in designer clothes for one. And he has distinct memories of Katy Perry licking tequila from Fergie’s belly button whilst Perrie had filmed the encounter and Zayn had nearly pissed himself laughing.

Harry’s legs are still open wide as usual, knee nearly bumping the gearstick occasionally, and they’re both mostly relaxed in posture. But the prospect of their fingers threading together like second nature is foreign, and they’re not really laughing so much as bantering off and on, Harry humming softly and absently to the music rather than belting out the lyrics.

Its jolting for the few minutes it takes Louis to get used to the full realisation at just how long five years has been. When he glances sideways, a taller, more sculpted person sits in the place of his old Harry, still so incredibly captivating, but more refined; more moderate in demeanour. A grown ass man.

And Louis considers himself then too, the way he sits in his own body. So comfortable in his skin now, much more sure of himself, more used to responsibility. Still a bit fucked up, but he could have turned out much worse.

Coming to terms with the Harry and Louis they’ve grown into makes him aware of the time that’s passed, how much has happened and how much has stayed the same, is a task and a half. But he gets there somewhere around Leicester, and when he’s gotten used to the idea in his head, he finally let’s go of the tension that’s been clinging onto him since they left London.

This might be the worst idea he’s ever had, it might be something monumental; either way, whatever happens, whatever bullshit, it will pass. And that, he thinks, is what makes him an official adult. Ha. Take that, universe.

 Its then however, that he starts to tune in on Nick’s drawl a little more clearly, and he barely fights off a groan when he mentions giving Harry a call on air. Harry doesn’t look too bothered by it, just rolls his eyes and smiles quietly, tutting. Something stupid burns in Louis blood and he forces himself to bite down and collar it before it reveals itself.

“Hello?”

“Harold!” Nick says, as Harry answers the phone. It’s weird, hearing him in person and echoing on the radio. “How are you on this fine day?”

“Alright,” Harry snorts, “on a road trip, actually.”

“You’re not using your phone whilst you’re driving again, are you?”

“Again?” Harry’s voice gets a bit high at that, but he looks amused, “I’m a model citizen, Nicholas. I won’t have you tarnishing my good name like this. Besides, I’m not driving.”

“Ladies and Gentleman and those of non-specified gender, I believe we have a mystery driver. Where are you off to, young Harold, and are you behaving yourself?”

Harry smirks a little, adjusting himself so he’s tucked against the door a bit, angling himself towards Louis. Louis bites down on a retort in case it gets picked up by Harry’s phone’s mic, and sips at his coke instead.

“I’m off towards home,” he says, which is technically true, they’re still headed near Manchester, kind of.

“Anne hasn’t mentioned a home visit.”

“Stop calling my mum, Nick, its creepy.”

“She loves me,” he says, blasphemed, “I’m a delight. She told me so.”

“Only because you spoil her when she comes to London.”

Louis grits his teeth and pretends it doesn’t rub him up the wrong way. He used to be close to Anne. He used to go and see her even without Harry. Used to bring her flowers and take her out to lunch, buy her expensive birthday gifts he couldn’t afford living off of student loans. He used to have that.

“She deserves to be spoiled like the goddess she is, Styles. Now stop avoiding the question.”

Harry makes eye contact with Louis then, and purses his lips.

“I’m just with a mate,” he manages to recover, “thought we’d take a weekend out.”

“You’ve just been on holiday, Harry. Oh, to be young, rich and beautiful.”

“Nick, you’re thirty-two, stop being a drama queen.”

“Never,” he drawls. “But seeing as you’re on air, you wanna pick a tune to play for us, Harold?”

“Can it be anything?”

“Got a summer theme going on, babe. Keep to it.”

“Maybe the uh…” Harry doesn’t look sideways when he breaks off a bit, hesitating, and Louis sighs, knowing what’s coming, “maybe the Chipper Fresco remix of Wouldn’t it be nice?”

“Should’ve bloody expected that one,” Nick snorts, and Louis frowns. “Harold is a big Beach Boys fan, aren’t you, darling? The amount of times I’ve listened to almost every version of this song since I’ve known him is alarming. Its unhealthy.”

“Heeeey,” Harry whines, although there’s a sheepish smile on his lips as Louis recovers enough to roll his eyes at him, “I just really like this song.”

“Very well,” Nick huffs, “I can see your puppy dog eyes from across the M1. Enjoy, Harold. And text me tomorrow, please? You’re too much of a stranger lately. Distracted. I can’t imagine why.”

Harry purses his lips to avoid grinning and dropping his head. Louis turns his head to look out the window, hiding the pleased smile that betrays him.

Nick hangs up, announcing the song with a hint of disgruntled fondness edging his tone, and playing it. They don’t say anything else for the rest of the journey, but Louis can’t stop smiling.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shameless fluff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can follow me over at thekindofworld.tumblr.com. I'm also now working on something new ready for when I finish this. 
> 
> Thank you! <3

The slam of the car door behind Louis as he gets out, followed by Harry, is what he assumes alerts Lottie to their presence.

He pretends there’s nothing out of the ordinary as they go to the boot to get their bags out, and he smiles like this is completely normal as he approaches his sister, who is stood on the doorstep staring straight past him. He goes to hug her but she snaps up one sharp fingernail, narrowing her eyes.

His smile fades immediately, like a soldier silenced by a corporal.

“Louis Tomlinson,” she says, still looking at Harry over his shoulder, “this is not a surprise, this is a bomb.”

He gulps as discreetly as possible and purses his lips before answering.

“I uh… thought it might be nice? Y’know, H hasn’t seen you guys in years-”

“And who’s fault is _that_?”

“Lots-”

“Its fine, Lou,” Harry’s voice is soft and calm from behind him. “Hey, kiddo.”

“Fuck you,” she shakes her head and finally cracks from hard faced to breathless and confused and extremely exasperated. “Jesus Christ, Harry.”

“Right,” he says awkwardly, “I can explain.”

“Not to me you can’t,” she wets her lips and lets out a long sigh, looking between them both for a moment, before wrapping her arms around her own middle and huffing. “Are you coming in or are you both just going to stand out here looking gormless?”

Louis holds the strap of his bag more snugly against his shoulder and follows her inside. Harry hesitantly moves beside him and Louis squeezes his shoulder reassuringly

Louis is almost bowled over by two teenagers and two toddlers as they crash into him, Ernie and Doris climbing up his legs. He laughs loudly, giddy with the smell and warmth of home and family as he bends a bit and hauls the kids up so they can wrap their arms around his neck, the squealing earsplitting but welcome against his ears. Phoebe and Daisy hug him tight, both of them growing closer to his height now.

Dan joins in, the six of them jumping up and down a bit. He’s missed the sound of high pitched giggling so much, and his heart almost bursts with the onslaught of love that slams into him.

Fizzy approaches and rolls her eyes, pressing a kiss to his temple and taking the kids so Dan can hug him properly, holding it for a few seconds and then stepping back. That’s… when Dan notices Harry. He visibly freezes, before his eyes light up and a grin spreads across his face and some of the anxiety buzzing in Louis’ gut dissipates.

“Harry Bloody Styles,” Dan says, raising his eyebrows and shaking his head, stepping past Louis, who turns to watch the encounter. Harry looks sheepish and a bit unsure of himself, head ducked ever so slightly, a goofy smile curling the corners of his mouth as he brings one hand up in a small wave, nodding once. Dan rolls his eyes and tugs him in tightly, embracing him even more enthusiastically than he had Louis.

“Lou,” Fizzy whispers where she’s now stood beside him, “what’s going on?”

“Overdue visit,” he just replies, shrugging, unable to keep the fond look off of his face as Harry relaxes in Dan’s hold and wraps his arms around him in turn, burying his face in his shoulder. “Last minute. S’alright, innit?”

“Sudden. Bit uh… s’weird. He’s so _tall_.”

Louis lets out a small breathy laugh and throws an arm around her shoulders, kissing the top of Doris’ head where she’s still burrowed against Fizzy’s chest.

Dan doesn’t let him up for a good ten seconds and when he does, Harry is bright eyed – if a little wet with emotion – and full of dimples, and Louis has to purse his lips and duck his head to get his fond under control.

“We have reservations, lads,” Lottie says from the doorframe, arms crossed over her chest. Louis’ brow furrows a bit, and he knows she’s faking this overly nonchalant behaviour. But he lets her have it for the moment. She’s a grown woman now, she’ll work it out in her own time. She has the whole weekend anyway. “Dunno if we’ll get a proper table though, only booked it for eight people. Should’ve told me we’d have a houseguest.”

“Oh, its uh – hey, don’t worry, I can amuse myself for a bit. You guys have a good-”

“Shut up, Haz,” Louis rolls his eyes before pointedly glaring at Lottie, who narrows hers at him. So much for them being adults. “It’s a pub in Doncaster, it’s not like they’re the bloody Ritz. They’ll fit us in fine. Besides, you haven’t had a proper Masons Arms fish and chips in years.”

“Lou, it’s not-”

“Louis is right,” Dan interrupts Harry this time, “the more the merrier. Besides, we’ve got a bit of catching up to do, mate. I want to hear all about what you’ve been up to.”

“Yeah,” Fizzy pipes up for the first time, “like do Gucci really give you all the free clothes you want and if so, can you hook me up?”

Harry laughs, shaking his head and still looking a bit unsure. Regardless, the room start to move anyway. Louis grabs Ernie off the floor and swoops him over to the stair case as the girls grab at hoodies and denim jackets and Louis crouches to tie Ernie’s shoelaces for him. He tries and fails not to smile to himself as Fizzy shoves Doris at Harry and throws her velcro Reeboks at him two seconds later.

The process of walking to the pub is a bit of a mad one, as it always is when the kids are excitable. Daisy and Phoebe seem to not really know how to behave around Harry. They alternate between blurting out a stream of random questions at him, and retreating back a bit. Daisy eventually falls into step beside Louis, and doesn’t complain when he throws an arm over her shoulders, even threads her own around his waist and rests her head on his shoulder wordlessly.

Fizzy walks confidently to Harry’s right however, always having been the best at dealing with high emotion, always being the more quietly intuitive one. Harry looks slightly awkward for the first few minutes, but relaxes when Fizzy starts talking about where her life had picked up after he’d left, what it was like when Louis went to London to finish studying, how it was when the twins were born and Dan and mum got married. She pointedly avoids the subject of cancer and funerals, instead smiling as Harry teases her about boys and rolling her eyes and laughs soft when Harry tells some of his silly stories about his rise to fame.

Lottie carries Doris on her hip and lets her babble about her day at nursery, pointedly still ignoring Harry as much as she can without causing a scene, and shooting confused glances at Louis every now and again, every side eye tinted with anger and frustration and disbelief. Like she can’t process how Louis so calm about having Harry here at home again.

Ernie tumbles around Dan’s feet, playing with the old happy meal toy in his hands and getting distracted by dogs and the ducks in the park pond when they pass through it.

The rest of the evening goes… perfectly, actually. At least, almost. The only issue is Lottie blatantly blanking Harry. But Louis knows she’s just dealing with it in her own head before she has a proper conversation with him.

The kids love Harry. Of course they do. Louis never doubted they would. Ernie keeps crawling out of the highchair to sit in Harry’s lap and play with his hair, which he’s fascinated by. Louis almost dies trying to keep composed when Doris calls him a real-life princess.

Dan sits at the head of the table with Harry on his right, and asks him a lot of questions, keeping it light and humorous, and Louis watches his eyes studying Harry’s face, taking him in, a barely concealed touch of disbelief sparkling in them.

Louis lets himself enjoy being with his sisters, loving how incredibly funny and smart they are individually. Daisy and Phoebe bicker half-heartedly and finish each other’s sentences, distracting him on purpose by tugging him in several different directions of conversation at once, from the hot teachers at their school, to Mora Fisher’s problems with her mum and dad. Daisy talks a mile a minute about the Gaia Hypothesis and how they’re also all being poisoned slowly by the government, didn’t he know? And Phoebe tells him all about her new YouTube channel, which is apparently doing better than Fizzy’s. Fizzy denies it.

Eventually his siblings sort of branch off to amuse themselves in their own conversations when they’ve sufficiently updated him on everything he’s missed and he sits back in his chair, one arm draped loosely over the back of Fizzy’s, Doris dropping off to sleep in his lap with her head curled under his other arm.

He sips occasionally at his fifth pint of the night and basks in the pleasant sensation of being a bit tipsy and full of good food, surrounded by the people he loves and lulled gently by the crackle of the pub’s large wood fireplace.

He just watches Harry move as he blows raspberries against Ernie’s cheeks and laughs at Dan’s bad dad jokes like they’re the funniest ones he’s ever heard.

Louis gets away with it for a good ten minutes before Harry finally looks at him head on, but he can’t even bring himself to be embarrassed or to look away. He just smiles softly, his heart swelling again as it throbs in his chest and he has to swallow on a lump in his throat. He knows, this could be dangerous. This whole thing could be a huge fuck up when he has to face the reality of it later on. What it means for them.

They hold the eye contact for a good twenty seconds before Harry blinks first, noticing Ernie has fallen asleep against his shoulder chewing on his own thumb. He carefully hands him over to Dan, and gestures for Louis to stand with him, taking a packet of pastel coloured Sobranies from his coat.

He lets out a long, loose breath as they’re washed with the chill of the summer night, and tries not to be overwhelmed by the memories of sneaking out here when they were younger to share a cigarette when their mums were distracted by the children, disliking the habit even when they were legal.

“You alright?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Harry frowns.

“It can’t be like… easy to just come back here.”

“Louis,” Harry says, smiling at him with a hint of exasperation to his tone, “if anyone should be shaken up, it should be you. Or the kids. Definitely the kids.”

Louis doesn’t want to reply to that, so he just picks the green cigarette from the pack and sparks, leaning back against the bench and running his other hand through his hair, the pressure of Harry’s arm pressed against his grounding and so nice. He thinks he could probably sit here like this forever under the stars.

“I love them so much,” Harry says, voice a bit croaky with overuse and alcohol and a bit of exhaustion, “I’d… it sounds fucking awful but I’d almost forgotten how much.”

“Nah,” Louis says, “I get it.”

“You always do,” Harry grins, nudging him a bit. Louis snorts, rolling his eyes, his smile widening regardless, blushing a bit knowing his eyes are crinkling at the corners the way they always do when he smiles his Harry smile.

“Thank you for asking me here, Lou. I really think I needed it.”

“S’alright, babe. Told you they’d love to see you.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Harry sighs, “Lottie doesn’t look to happy about it.”

“Lottie is stubborn.”

“I wonder where she gets that from.”

Louis pouts as Harry teases him, poking him in the ribs. Louis gets him in a headlock, mussing his hair. Harry struggles for a moment, laughing and cursing at the same time before Louis loosens up to let him up. Instead, Harry just buries his face in Louis’ neck and closes his eyes, and it’s the closest they’ve physically been without a buffer for a long time. But it’s also intoxicatingly wonderful, feeling Harry’s warm breath against his jugular again, the way he fits there, the ridiculous way he attaches like a limpet. It used to be that Harry was smaller than Louis, and he almost pisses himself laughing that even when he’s taller, lankier, ginormous basically, he still thinks he’s some sort of sleepy kitten.

“Hmmmmm,” Harry sighs again, nuzzling his nose to Louis’ pulse point. Louis thinks he could probably melt. “Missed this.”

“Me too, love,” Louis says, his voice coming out in a far-off way, his skin hot despite the cold night. “Don’t fall asleep though, we need to go home.”

“Carry me.”

“Harry, I’m five nine and you’re closer to six foot. I couldn’t carry you if I tried.”

“Nah,” Harry grumbles, “you’ll always be strong enough to carry me. You promised me.”

Louis feels those words like the breath has been knocked out of him. It _has_ been knocked out of him. How the fuck Harry remembers that he has no idea because he’s pretty sure the dickhead had been asleep when he’d said that to him.

“You weren’t supposed to have heard that,” Louis manages, resigning himself to his predicament, “you were stoned and sleeping.”

“Nope,” Harry giggles a bit, and Louis rolls his eyes, shaking his head. “You only thought I was.”

“It was half a bloody decade ago.”

“So?” Harry says matter-of-factly, “I remember everything from back then. Clear as day.”

“I was pissed off my tits when I promised that. And I didn’t think you’d end up like Peter Fuckin Crouch.”

“I’m only five eleven, Lou, you’re such a drama queen.”

Louis doesn’t carry him, but they do branch off from Dan and the kids half way home, handing the babies to Lottie and Fizzy and walking off kilter down an old lane they used to ride down on their mountain bikes a few times a month when Harry came to stay in the summer.

They laugh quietly and breathlessly, bumping into each other, nudging each other playfully, chasing each other a bit, Harry trapping Louis in a headlock for a full ten seconds before he’s forced to admit defeat. Harry wraps his arms around his shoulders from behind and mutters half-serious flattery against his ear in an effort to get him to stop pouting, but Louis just elbows Harry in the ribs. He laughs, of course, finds the whole thing hilarious until they’re stopped dead in their tracks by the opening to their old pond.

Its their pond because Louis doubts many other people even know it exists. Whenever they’ve been hear in the past, its always been void of other human presence. You can’t hear anything out here, aside from your own breathing and the birds chirping in the trees.

When Louis comes back to himself, he sits down near the edge of the water and lays back, Harry joining him a few seconds later.

Louis eyes remember the stars like he remembers his nineteenth birthday and learning to sew. That is, he always forgets until he’s underneath them again, right in this particular spot, and then their image is crystal clear in his mind.

He lets his eyelids slide closed, lips parting ever so slightly, shutting out everything except how it feels to be right here, right now.

He feels the cold air in his lungs, his heart beat in his chest and the involuntary shiver as a slight breeze prickles up the hairs on the back of his neck. The solidness of the dry mud under his spine and the whistle of the trees and their creatures, noises trickling through the leaves to reach him.

Even with the dark of his closed eyes, the world spins a bit on its axis with the lilt of alcohol thrumming in his system, but its pleasant and softens everything out at the edges.

When he opens his eyes again, Harry is staring at him, propped up on one elbow to his right, green eyes sparkling as they flicker over his face. The gleaming reverence in his gaze causes Louis’ heart to skip a slightly sluggish beat, and he feels like there’s magic in his veins.

“Sap,” Louis croaks out, unable to keep the grin off of his face. Harry’s mouth curls into a serene smile, eyebrows flicking up for a second in a non-verbal ‘so fucking what’, and Louis just snorts, shaking his head slightly and huffing, lifting one arm for Harry to shift closer and lay his head on Louis’ chest.

And with the weight of Harry’s cheek above his heart and the stars twinkling hundreds of thousands of miles above them just like they last left them, Louis feels another wound closing over and another channel of pain seize its ache.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is my favourite of the entire story. I felt it. I was in a car, it was really humid, but it was raining a little bit and the windows were open and this song came on. 
> 
> I had to write it in.

They leave Sunday morning.

It’s been a while since Louis has been this emotional saying goodbye to his family, and it definitely has something to do with the way Lottie looks at Harry when she stands awkwardly watching him pepper kisses over Ernie and Doris’ faces whilst they squeal in laughter and snuggle into his neck.

She’d been thirteen the last time they’d spent any real time together, but Louis remembers the way she used to look at him back then, and how its echoed in her eyes now. Like he’s a supernova burning up.

When Dan takes the babies from Harry, he hugs Fizzy and promises repeatedly that he’ll come back, that he’ll never go so long without being in contact again. Louis lets out a shaky breath and leans back against the car door as Fizzy comes to lay her head on his shoulder and Doris makes grabby hands at him until he lifts her to hold her on his hip.

There’s a moment where Harry steps forward to open his arms to Lottie, but hesitates when she ducks her head, long blonde hair falling forward to hide her expression. Louis suspects she’s crying but intervening feels like walking on fragile ice, and he knows this is all them now. This is their time.

“Lottie?”

She clears her throat, sniffs, and lifts her head again, pursing her lips, Reeboks scuffing at the gravel of the driveway.

“Harry,” she replies matter-of-factly, but the crack in her voice betrays her.

“I mean it. I’m coming back.”

“So, you said,” she says, lips quirking in a brief half-smile, “but that was the last thing you said to me before, so forgive me if I don’t take your word for it.”

Harry swallows tightly and nods once, dipping his head a bit before running one hand through his hair.

“I’ll prove you wrong,” he says, stepping forward, long fingers coming up to touch at her cheek for a second, knuckle curving to wipe one of the tears away. Her eyes close momentarily and she drags in a breath that looks almost painful. “You grew up amazing, babe. I’m so proud of you.”

She grits her teeth for a moment before one of her own hands inches up to hold his against her face, still not opening her eyes.

“You just _left_ ,” it comes out as a whimper, her bottom lip, painted artfully in purple lipstick, quivering. He drops his forehead to her’s, and Louis doesn’t think he’s ever hurt so much for the people in front of him.

“I know,” Harry whispers back, pressing a rough, lingering kiss to her brow, “I know.”

Then he wraps his arms around her, and she starts sobbing silently into his shoulder, her own arms coming to furl tightly around his waist, locked like she wants to make it hurt a bit but also like she doesn’t want to let him go ever again. Louis knows how that feels.

“Bloody hell,” Phoebe says quietly from Louis’ right where Daisy is resting her chin on her shoulder, “this is depressing.”

Louis snorts, shaking his head, the ache in his chest incongruous with the way his sisters always make him laugh even in the most ridiculously pitiful situations.

“Behave,” he tuts, flicking the side of her head. She narrows her eyes at him, but huffs and shrugs, turning her eyes back to the scene.

“C’mon,” Harry says, voice gravelly as he breaks away slightly, hands coming up to cup her head over her hair, her own hands remaining on the sides of his waist. She finally brings herself to look up at him, and Louis has to swallow on the lump gathering in his throat again. “Enough tears, you’ll fuck up your mascara.”

“Mum knew, by the way,” she says, and Louis has to hide his face in Doris’ neck to not lose all grip on his emotions. “She knew you loved her. Us. All of us. She always knew you’d come back one day. Whenever I’d ask about it, she’d always sip her tea and pat my head. ‘Give him time, love.’ I never believed her. Guess she was right. Make sure she was right, Harry. Don’t hurt him again.”

Louis can feel the older twins’ eyes on him as Doris’ smaller hands tug at the collar of his striped Gucci pullover, getting impatient with his sniffing and weird behaviour. He hugs her tight once and then loosens the hold, putting her down and letting her run back to Dan, who smiles poignantly, quietly, and lifts her again.

“Never,” Harry says firmly, pecking a final kiss to Lottie’s nose and laughing a little as she grimaces and bats him away, wiping at her face, a little embarrassed now.

“Piss off then,” she says, as she comes to hug Louis for a few seconds longer than normal, “both of you.”

“Charming as ever,” Louis grins, rolling his eyes and thumbing away the remnants of tears around her eyes without smudging her eyeliner.

“Bye bye,” Louis waves at the kids, kissing the tops of Daisy and Phoebe’s heads and telling Fizzy to come and stay with him in a few weeks.

Then they’re in the car and Harry is driving this time and it feels like closure.

It’s warm; humid, eighteen degrees Celsius on the dash thermometer. Louis’ jumper sticks to him a bit, even with the loose fit, and he pushes the long sleeves up to his elbows, crossing his legs underneath him on the seat as they hit the motorway again.

But the sky is overcast and peppered with dark cloud and the light spray of summer rain lands on the windscreen as Harry rolls the windows down and rests one arm on the frame. Louis texts off some important emails and Harry switches the radio on, moving between stations before he finds a song he likes.

Dropping his phone into his own lap, Louis finally sits back and considers the strange feeling in his stomach.

The slow piano beat starts up but builds into a gentle dance track, and a small smile flickers over Louis’ lips, his chest beginning to soar as the beat picks up. Harry puts his foot down a bit as the speed limit becomes non-restrictive. Louis feels a bit like he’s flying.

When he looks sideways, Harry is also smiling, nibbling on his bottom lip, long fingers tapping away on the window frame. He glances back at Louis and winks, and as they hit the chorus, Harry starts to hum.

Then they’re both singing, the wind rushing over their skin and blowing in their hair, breathless grins on their mouths, laughing, chests vibrating with the sound of their own voices, the tips of Harry’s fingers tapping the beat out on the steering wheel, heads moving with it.

“ _Boy you can cool it down, I’m here to fool around, just wanna dance, dance, dance, dance, dance, dance. I know you want me, but I don't care baby, just wanna dance, dance, dance, dance, dance, dance_.”

Louis tugs the sunglasses down over his face and tucks his legs a bit more snugly beneath himself. He doesn’t know who reaches out first. Maybe it’s him. Maybe it’s Harry. Maybe they both go at the same time. All he knows, is that Harry’s fingers still slot between his own like they were made specifically for that purpose, that their palms are still warm and soft and solid against each other, that the weight is just enough and too much all at once, that when their hands connect, it’s like being tethered wholly and completely to another person with no control over the happiness and elated joy pulsing through his veins.

And he remembers what it is to simply hold the hand of the person who is right for you.

Suddenly it’s okay. All of it. The pain, the nights crying into pillows, the empty vodka bottles and left over take away when he was too tired to even think about cooking. The empty space beside him at his mum’s funeral and the times he wouldn’t even leave the office, Beth’s disapproving and concerned glances when she’d come in to find him high on caffeine and nicotine, surrounded by a mess of fabric.

It’s alright.

It doesn’t feel like dying anymore.

He feels alive again.


	13. Chapter 13

Louis is nervous as hell.

He’s been snapping at people in the office all afternoon, and it’s gotten even worse since he got home to his flat that’s been taken over by Lottie and the entire 78 team.

Zayn is already in the chair, having sparkly golden highlighter applied to the tips of his cheekbones. Perrie is perched on the countertop of his kitchen in a dark red YSL pre-AW17 mini dress, deep V neck with puffed long sleeves and a ruched gathering at the waist. Her hair is still tied out of the way and she hasn’t had her make up done yet, but the look itself is genius, as usual. And surprisingly understated by her standards.

He goes straight to her and presses a kiss to her cheek, accepting the glass of wine she pours him with an overwhelmingly grateful look.

“How you doing, babe?”

“Alright,” he says, swigging heavily at the wine.

“Worried about tonight?”

“Not so much,” he shrugs, preening and relaxing further as her acrylics start running through his hair, massaging his scalp. Lottie narrows her eyes at them because messing up his hair is gonna make her job harder in an hour or so, but he doesn’t care. He’s stressed the fuck out, and he loves having his hair played with. “More worried about H to be honest.”

“He’ll be fine,” she says softly, pressing a kiss to the top of his crown, “he’s brave as fuck, and with what you’ve done for him, nothing is going to be able to touch him.”

Louis just lets out a small, huffy breath and drinks more to distract himself.

They stay like that for a bit, Pez typing on her phone with one hand, still scratching lightly at his hair with the other. He scrolls through twitter.

There’s a lot of buzz for tonight, mostly about the nominees. Both Harry and Niall are up for a couple of them, but his mentions are full of people asking for clues as to outfits and who’s going to be wearing what. Since he’s publicly been spending time with Harry again, Louis gained about ten thousand followers, and a lot of them are excited people asking if he’s designed anything for their boy tonight.

He can’t help pursing his lips as he drags up a random one and makes the decision to tweet back.

 

 **@Louis_Tomlinson** :

_**@larentslove** we study rainbows_

 

He puts his phone down then, like he always does at least two hours before an event, and goes to Alairya to let her fit him in the suit he’s made for himself again.

It’s an ankle cut off again, bespoke, navy blue with a gorgeous metallic detail he’d collabed with Gucci on – reluctantly – and underneath he’s wearing a light blue silk shirt he’s borrowed from Harry (who’d insisted he wear it after he’d shown interest in it), patterned with light bees printed on the fabric. On his feet, are dark blue brogues.

“So I’m thinking because you’ve got the light blue shirt we can go for some silver highlighter with a light smudging of eyeliner? Nothing too Jack Sparrowish, just something to make you stand out without being abrasive.”

Louis just nods and lets his sister do her thing, all the while trying hard to calm the jitters, anxiety really setting in now.

It doesn’t take her long, and when she’s done she just ruffles his hair up a bit and does something to make it a bit wavy, pushing it over to one side and using some extra strength hair spray.

After that, he doesn’t have a lot of time to do much thinking or doubting, he’s too busy liaising with PR and taking phone calls from other companies and the managers of the celebrities he’s designed for.

By the time most of their team have vacated his apartment and Zayn is herding Louis and Perrie out on the curb to meet their driver, Louis is stressed the fuck out and crawling out of his skin.

There are more eyes on him tonight than usual; with all the time he’s publicly been spending with Harry and the incident with the homophobe outside the restaurant a little while back, his name has been googled more in the past seven months than it has since he was even known in the industry. It means there’s far more pressure on him to do his job right, and that the opinions on the clothes he’s been making for people have been far more impassioned and ruthless. Particularly from the fans of Harry’s that are desperately clutching at the final shreds of his non-existent heterosexuality. Louis almost feels sorry for them. Tonight is not going to be a good one for their books.

Zayn and Perrie get out of the car before he does, but wait for him to join them before they go anywhere.

Because they’re not nominees or musicians, they don’t step out of the SUV straight onto the red carpet. They linger where they are for a few moments whilst some event organisers and PR fuss over them, and Louis hands out a few orders to different people under his payroll. The cameras of paps waiting outside the venue for arrival pictures are still clicking away at them though, and Louis forces himself not to look disgruntled with the knowledge that they’ll be put in numerous magazines over the next few days, especially when Harry hits the carpet in about thirty-five minutes and everyone sees what he’s wearing.

Then they’re taken through along the carpet towards the interviewers nooks. The flashes pick up a bit when they spot the three of them walking across the background of the early arrivals, but Louis ignores them as much as possible, trying to get his head in the game.

They do a few five-minute interviews, taking it in turns to dominate conversation, giving opinions on what looks have been seen so far, and talking briefly about what’s in store for their own clients for the rest of the night. Louis gets a bit choked up watching Zayn and Perrie talking so eloquently and expertly about their craft a couple of times actually; they’ve both come so far in the past few years and he’s incredibly excited to see how their careers progress in the following.

Then they’re sort of free to roam as long as they don’t get in the way too much. They blend into the background with the other extra bodies; Louis thinks all he needs is a clipboard and an earpiece with a curled plastic cord disappearing under his collar and he’ll be one of them.

He manages to focus his nervous energy into smaller tics, tugging his blazer on further around him or straightening it out, rubbing his hands together, shifting his weight from one hip, to a short power stance when he has to tell someone off, to the other hip. He shakes a lot of hands and kisses a lot of cheeks, gives a lot of one armed hugs and has his fake laugh perfected to a tee when numerous musicians thank him.

He hugs Ed properly of course, teasing him about the next single ‘New Man’ and hinting that Harry is not happy with him for it. He promises Rita he’ll make her something for her album launch in a few weeks, and spends the rest of his time keeping an eye on Perrie and Zayn, his protective instincts a little heightened tonight in general, comforting himself by resting a hand on Perrie’s waist or in the small of Zayn’s back, despite being a good four inches shorter than the both of them.

Things are going pretty smoothly for the most part, and Louis is just starting to get into the swing of things before there’s a wave of loud shouting starting behind the barriers at the front of the carpet and Louis freezes, immediately knowing exactly who has just arrived.

He tries to keep his body language consistent and neutral as it has been since they got here, but he has no idea if he succeeds.

He glances up and briefly catches a flash of colour and brown curly hair, shiny black Gucci boots. His heart is beating hard against his breast plate and he’s finding it hard to remember how to breathe.

“Lou,” Zayn says softly, voice cracking with emotion for a second, “Louis he looks beautiful.”

Louis knows that. Harry Styles always looks beautiful. But god, this is so different. This is big. This is massive for him. This is months of seeding in the press, months of ‘not that importants’ and ‘don’t knock it till you’ve tried its’ and flirting with male friends on social media. Its months of Harry’s clothes getting less and less traditionally masculine, of gender neutral pronouns through every song on his album, months of days spent with Louis in the back of coffee shops venting about being scared, about how large a deal this is for him.

We study rainbows, indeed.

Harry had basically told the world last week that Louis would be making him something for tonight, but even Harry himself hadn’t seen the sketches or work ups. Louis had wanted it to be a surprise, to be everything Harry needed to feel proud and safe and as comfortable as possible on one of the biggest nights of his life.

And well, Miles can do without it this time.

The noise is incredible. Its ear-splitting. Hundreds of paps and photographers behind the barriers yelling questions at the tops of their lungs, the fans crying and clutching their IPhones in their hands. Louis draws in a deep breath and lifts his head properly this time.

The blazer fits Harry perfectly, emphasising the shape of his strong arms, tattoos on show where the sleeves have been pushed up to his elbows, the birds and butterfly on his chest in almost full view where the buttons of the loose, silk black shirt have been undone to just above his naval.

The shirt itself was made by Gucci, who are sponsoring Harry’s album promo, but where they normally embroider Harry’s last name above his heart, the word ‘ _proud_ ’ is sewn in rainbow cursive, just visible under the lapels of Louis’ masterpiece.

Lou Teasdale has done some of her best work with the make-up, just some concealer and a light layer of highlighter along the tops of his cheekbones to make him shine.

Harry tucks one hand in the pocket of his black skinny jeans, and puts on the red-carpet smile, posing for the pictures. Slowly, his PR and security guide him further up the line, and he waves a couple of times.

As he gets closer, he defies the warnings of Paul and moves to stand right up against the barrier, signing things for fans, eyes sparkling. Louis watches as Harry takes the hands of one of the young girls between his own, squeezing before thumbing some of the tears off her left cheek, speaking to her closely so she can hear him over the noise.

Whatever he says makes her laugh through her sobbing, and then he embraces her, taking her face in his hands. The peace ring glints under the light, and Louis only just manages to swallow back his own tears.

Harry takes selfies with as many people as he can, throwing up peace signs and grinning so wide, his dimples resemble the craters on the moon. Louis has only ever seen him smile that big before once; when they were on the pitch of Doncaster football stadium after having drunkenly broken in, and Louis had told him he loved him for the first time.

Harry’s PR are trying to usher him a bit further up without stopping, but Harry cuts them off again, gently pushing Paul’s arm aside and making a beeline for the three of them.

“Alright?” Louis croaks out, clearing his throat, feeling his own shirt sticking around his armpits a bit where he’s sweating.

“Amazing,” Harry says, and Louis feels the rest of the world seize to exist when green eyes lock with his and his chest feels as though it might explode with love.

And then Harry is stepping in and wrapping his arms around him like any sort of space between them is too much and the camera flashes speed up again but he can’t bring himself to care, because this means so, so much to Harry, and Louis has never been so proud of anyone in his life.

“Thank you, Lou,” Harry says in his ear, a crack in his low drawl that makes Louis close his eyes and tighten his own arms where they’re threaded around Harry’s waist. “I’ll never be able to thank you enough.”

“This was all you, babe,” Louis replies, not much more than a whisper.

“You made it possible. You make anything possible.”

Harry pulls back with a grin, eyes shining with unshed tears. Louis smiles back, winking at him.

“Any time,” Louis tells him firmly, “always.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some tears, some music, and a bit of a confession.

He sits and listens to Harry’s entire discography a week later.

Harry has been doing a bulk of promo in the wake of coming out; television and radio interviews and what not, and Louis has had some down time in off season before overload for the next string of big events.

He gets himself a hefty bottle of red wine and his largest glass, curls up on the sofa, and pulls up iTunes on his laptop.

It’s alright to begin with. It’s clear where Harry has had less say in the way the songs are produced and sung. The summer bops for example; beautiful lyrics as always, but on another’s lips, curled around another’s tongue, and nothing particularly deep. Louis decides he likes them, but after the fourth one, he skips ahead a bit to something Harry did with Ed about two years into Harry’s song writing career.

Its softer, slower, and the second Harry’s voice croons through Louis lets out a shuddery breath and puts the laptop down, simply letting it play whilst he tugs the Hugg blanket up to his chin and wets his lips.

Little Things, Louis has zero doubt, is about him.

Harry’s favourite part about being out together before anyone outside of their respective hometowns knew them, was holding Louis’ hand in public. The little shit never let go of the damn thing and treated it like it was his own extra limb. And everyone who knows Louis closely is aware of the triangle constellation of freckles on his cheek to the right of his lip.

And Harry used to pepper kisses to the crinkles at the corners of Louis eyes when he couldn’t help but smile and hide his face. And as much as Louis has come into himself, eighteen-year-old him had not loved the way his own ass stuck out a bit, or the puppy fat left on his thighs which later turned to muscle the more he played football (even participated in some charity matches that were highly publicised over the years). And Harry had always had a weird thing for the dimples at the bottom of Louis’ back, used to kitten lick at them when they were more softly wrapped up in each other.

It’s the chorus that hits Louis hard though.

Its rich and vibrating with adoration, a reverent longing. It sounds like the way Harry looks at Louis. He never thought you could make a look in the eyes into a noise, but that’s what it is. Its everything Louis had thought Harry had felt for him in the beginning, the sort of love that used to frighten him because it burned so fast and deep.

The responsibility of having someone see him on such a pious level was so overwhelming back then.

It was never anything that wasn’t reciprocated in full force of course, but Louis was gearing up for university; his friends were all drinkers, hard hitting party goers and Louis had been too, until Harry had looked at him with those ridiculous big green eyes for the first time, and then it had all faded into background blur.

He realises then, abruptly, tucked into his sofa in his penthouse apartment three hours away from where he’d grown up, now a twenty-four-year-old Creative Director with a worldwide company under his thumb, it had been so, so unhealthy. They’d been so in love that everything else had trailed away from them. Louis remembers how he’d failed more modules in the year and a half he was with Harry, than he had in his entire life, and Harry had basically moved in with him, left his mum at sixteen and buried himself in Louis’ life, which had mostly come to involve very little but Harry Styles.

He doesn’t even realise he’s crying until he feels the hot tear drip from his chin to his collar bone as Harry sings about their old insecurities. How rushed they’d been to blurt out confessions of intense love before their heads had had a chance to catch up, but how real it had been, even two years afterward when Harry had sat in a recording studio with Ed Sheeran, and plucked it into music.

There’s a collaboration Harry had done with Troye Sivan last year as a side project for his album, but Louis had avoided radio like the plague for weeks when it had impacted.

He regrets it now, just a little, because More Than This is gorgeous, and probably one of the most heartbreaking songs he’s ever heard. And also probably a big deal for Harry because of Troye being publicly out and proud and the song consisting of male pronouns.

That’s where a lot of the controversy had started actually. One of Harry’s fans had apparently listened to the song and come to the conclusion that Harry was broken hearted over a man he’d split up with.

Actually, when Louis thinks about it, the song was coincidentally written around the same time he himself had been in the papers for having a short relationship with Colton Haynes. Louis is still fucking baffled as to how that happened himself, but Colton texts him every Saturday, and continues to snapchat him whilst shopping for advice.

God, Louis can’t… because he’s only a little while into Harry’s extensive repertoire of writing credits and its glaringly clear that a lot of them are about or at least in part inspired by the way his and Harry’s relationship ended.

A lot of them are edged with regret and a journey of self-forgiveness.

Right Now is amazing, consisting of a gentle beat that reminds Louis of being sat in a car in the middle of the night with streetlamps drawing soft lines over the dark of a backseat; liminal to the point where it makes Louis close his eyes and tip his head back, letting it wash over him.

There’s rockier songs too, more upbeat and very Harry-ish. Louis knows if he looked up videos of Harry’s live performances he’d see him being a ‘stage hoe’ as his fans have coined it. Then Happily, the EP he’d released before he’d signed an album deal with RCA, which also features a collab on Stockholm Syndrome with The Vamps, and Change Your Ticket which sounds distinctly Bleachers/Walk The Moon inspired.

But 80% of them feel specific to him. Like all this time, Louis has refused to listen to Harry’s music, and has been completely unaware that playing on mass produced, platinum selling CDs and singles all over the world, are love letters written for him.

And Harry hasn’t mentioned any of it once since they’ve been talking again. Not even hinted at it. 

And he almost has a heart attack when he finally downloads Harry’s full album and hits the play button.

Meet Me In The Hallway is the shout of a desperate lover in the midst of grieving for a relationship, equalising a romantic connection to dependence on morphine.

‘Once you go without it, nothing else will do’

Harry has those words tattooed at the bottom of his spine. The calligraphy shows sometimes, when his shirt rides up at the back, and Louis has caught himself staring at it when they’ve been on holiday, wondering almost obsessively where they’re from and what they allude to.

He’s been a fucking dumbass.

Sign Of The Times is a beautiful, apocalyptic ballad worthy of a place on the shelves beside Adele’s Skyfall and Lorde’s Everybody Wants To Rule The World. And Louis knows one of Harry’s best friends died a while back; Niall went to the funeral. Louis remembers hesitating before Niall had left for the car that day, wondering if he should say something, anything, itching to tag along last minute just to be there in some sort of way for Harry, who didn’t even know they were connected through a slightly insecure, slightly batty Irishman with a guitar. But he’d just kissed Niall on the cheek and let him go.

Louis has a really bad habit of doing that.

The songs on the album that are personal are obvious; Carolina and Kiwi showcasing Harry’s mischievous nature, his love of having fun and letting loose with music.

He’s not expecting to hear Two Ghosts.

Mainly because he had been around to witness that song being written.

Three days before Harry left.

He remembers rolling over in bed and watching Harry through mostly closed eyelids, baby curls tumbling over his forehead, moon shining in through the window, fingers clutching at a pencil. He remembers being breathless watching a tear fall and land on the notepad propped by Harry’s knees but not wanting to disturb him on a flow.

He remembers sneaking a peak at it the next morning whilst Harry was in the shower and how the lyrics had enforced his iron grip on denial. They were fine. They were going to be fine.

They weren’t.

Sweet Creature is the trigger Louis needs to slam the laptop shut and frantically thumb for Harry’s number on his screen.

“Hello?”

There’s noise in the background, and Louis remembers Harry saying he was going out with Nick tonight to let off some steam.

“Lou? Fuck, Nick, piss off. One sec, I’m – shit. Okay, gimme two seconds. Right. I’m outside. Is everything okay?”

“Have you – have you had much to drink?”

There’s a short pause and Louis knows Harry is gauging his mood to find his boundaries. That’s something they’ve been relearning about each other of late.

“No, just a daiquiri and a shot. Are you okay? Your voice is croaky.”

Louis swallows on his dry throat and draws in a deep breath, his heart giving a particularly aching thud. He sniffs and wipes at his eyes with the back of his hand.

“Shit, babe, you – have you been crying? Lou, what happened?”

“No, nothing. I promise. I’m – I just listened to your music,” Louis says, not missing Harry’s sharp intake of cold London air on the other end of the line, “all of it. I’ve never done that before.”

“I know,” Harry says, like it’s something he’s gotten used to, resigned himself to. “I guessed. You couldn’t even look at me when we started talking again, I doubted you’d been able to listen to any of my stuff.”

“I – Harry.”

“Louis, it’s alright if-”

“ _I didn’t know_ ,” Louis whines, shaking his head and pinching the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb, “christ. I had no idea. It’s about me.”

“It’s for you, Lou,” Harry sighs, and Louis can hear the spark of a lighter. “All of it. It was always all for you.”

Louis takes a long moment to focus on breathing, revaluating the past five years.

“Y’know,” Louis wets his lips and clears his throat, sitting back and tucking his chin over his knees, “I used to think when you left, it was because you realised you didn’t want me anymore. Like lightbulb moment, ‘I don’t actually love my boyfriend, and it’s easier to run away than it is to tell him to his face.’”

“Lou-”

“Hazza, please just let me talk, okay? I – fuck, I’m not trying to guilt trip you. I meant it when I said I’ve forgiven you. I just… I want, need to explain why I was so fucking angry. I thought you ripped yourself out of my life because you were too much of a pussy to tell me you’d changed your mind about loving me.”

Harry waits a few seconds to make sure Louis is finished, before inhaling shakily.

“Louis, I feel the same way about you now as I did when you kicked your football at my face when I was sixteen.”

“Eighteen,” Louis snorts, “long before we both thought the same thing, right?”

“Oh god,” Harry grouses, and Louis can’t help the tiny, broken laugh tumbling out through his lips.

“Don’t be embarrassed, love, it’s very sweet.”

“It’s sickening. I’m sickening. I’m the idiot people shame by writing memes on cakes and posting them on the internet. I’m surprised Ed hasn’t brought me one that says ‘I spent five years pining for my ex-boyfriend’. Love shamed. I can’t believe I haven’t been love shamed yet.”

Louis’ heartrate is returning to normal now, and he’s starting to feel warm again, and he knows this sensation. He knows what this means.

There’s no way he’s going to escape falling in love with Harry Styles this time.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Have another, because I'm feeling generous. Harry is sick, Louis takes care of him.

Harry runs a hand through his curls and sniffs a little, huffing at the way it offers no relief. His nose is still bunged up and his head still feels like its stuffed with tissue paper and he’s supposed to be ready for hair and make-up in five hours but he doesn’t actually think his already clumsy limbs will keep him upright.

And he is beyond fed up.

Allergies on their own, he can deal with; normally just pops an anti-histamine, keeps his inhaler in his pocket, and manages to make the constant nose wiggling cute. Having a cold on its own he can usually deal with too. Lou carries lemsips around in her kit everywhere they go, and Mandy at the local pharmacist has known him since well before he became a household name, simply because he’s always bloody ill. His mum says it’s because he’s too tactile, shakes the hands of everyone he meets, even if they’re infected with aggressive seasonal bacteria.

Gemma says it’s just because he’s a disaster on legs.

Which is kind of true, but he’ll never give her the satisfaction of agreeing with her to her face.

The point is, he’s ill and his allergies are playing up simultaneously, which means his body feels like it’s completely failing him and all he wants to do is burrow himself in soft fabrics and eat tomato soup. And cuddle Louis Tomlinson.

The dick.

Things have been kind of awkward since Louis listened to his songs. The phone call outside the club had been… revealing and overwhelming and Harry had been drunk and shocked and had reacted in the only way he felt he could at the time; by practically yelling to Louis that he’s in love with him. Not actually yelling. Or those exact words.

But it had been implied in the whole ridiculously cheesy ‘all for you always’ confession. Which in hindsight, Harry thinks, is not his most dignified moment. It needed to be said though. Would inevitably have been said at some point anyway. They’ve been hurtling down this path for months, circling each other, drawn in like gravity; the moon and the sun in orbit, Gem had once called them, with a world between them and a connection that could burn galaxies into black holes.

Thinking about that half-a-decade later, his frown deepens a bit. That’s a pretty dark image to present to a seventeen-year-old in their first serious relationship, but he knows sort of what she’d meant. What Harry feels for Louis is a bit celestial in nature. It’s never gone away, just continued to move with the days rolling past, beating in his chest, pulsing in his blood, living in his DNA. It’s become part of the rest of Harry as he’s discovered more of who he is as an individual over the years, and he’s surer now than ever that he’ll love Louis Tomlinson with every fibre of his existence until he draws his last breath.

He’d accepted and adjusted to it a long time ago, and now it’s just another integral part of who he is. His hair is brown, his eyes are green, he has four nipples, and his heart belongs to the same person its belonged to since he was a teenager.

He feels pathetic. Useless. A shitty excuse for a human being. He’s supposed to be a world class musician at the beginning of an illustrious career, not a heap of snivelly, leaky, bacilli ridden baby deer that is incapable of remembering to rub his hands with sanitiser after shaking a bunch of others during flu season.

He feels pathetic and he legitimately wants to cry with how much he misses Louis warm body holding his, strong and beautiful and steadfast.

“God,” Louise exclaims as she knocks on the bedroom door but let’s herself in anyway, “christ, it’s like a fucking quarantine zone in here. Are you sure you’re not dying?”

“Piss off,” Harry whines, not opening his eyes as he rolls over and tries to relax his body enough for the painful shivers to stop. He feels a cold hand press to his forehead and he shrinks away violently, hissing at the way the movement flares up more aching in his joints.

“Harry,” Lou’s voice softens as she presses her hand to his frown softly this time, with more warning. “Harry, sweetheart, you’re burning up.”

“I know,” he coughs weakly, turning his head to bury it in the pillow, disliking even the minimal light in the room.

“Do you need anything?”

“Just – g-gimme an hour and I’ll be up for the shoot.”

“Darling, its four in the afternoon on a Tuesday; your shoot was supposed to be yesterday. Jeff told Liam to cancel all your appointments for the next three days at least.”

“No!” Harry turns his head to look at her too quickly and winces. She tuts at him and he feels her weight push down on the mattress near his midriff, her hand resting in the curve of his waist.

“Don’t bitch about it, you don’t have the energy. Rest and a shit tonne of drugs is what you need. Not the fun kind. The good for you kind. The stuff that’s gonna get your immune system back online.”

“Already missed t’much this year.”

“Babe, this is doctor’s orders.”

“R’ya just talkin bout Jeff ‘gain?”

He hears her faint chuckle like he’s submerged under water.

“No, he legitimately spoke to your GP this morning. I sent Lambert out with Lux to get the list of heavy medicine you need. I uh…”

“Lou,” Harry sighs, hearing the hesitancy in her voice, “what did you do?”

“Nothing major, I don’t get why you don’t trust me-”

“Louise.”

“I texted Louis.”

Harry groans and shakes his head feebly, swallowing on a dry throat only for his lungs to protest and force him into a coughing fit that thrusts him upright for a few moments. Lou rubs his back soothingly but it still feels… not right. She’s great and he loves her but she’s… she isn’t who he really wants in his bed cuddling him right now. The only drawback is, Louis seeing him looking like he tripped out the double doors of a hospital after a night drinking too much tequila.

“Lou, if he sees me like-”

“He’ll probably fall even more in love with you.”

“I mean it-”

“I know,” she rolls her eyes. He doesn’t look at her but he knows she does. “I’m being serious. Besides, you gonna tell me that you weren’t ill at all when you were together before?”

“I was younger then,” Harry huffs, feeling a wave of nausea wash over him. It passes though, and he breathes through it. “Now I’m this… a different person. I look hideous.”

“Harry, I could probably wheel you straight onto the catwalk of LFW right now and you’d be labelled Britain’s most beautiful man by three different magazines. The point is, Louis is coming over to look after you whilst I do mom things, and as long as you take all your meds and keep your fluids up, you will be fine in a couple of days.”

“I hate you,” he grumbles but she strokes his hair back from his forehead and ties it back for him anyway, her touch tender as always.

“I’ll see you back at work on Monday.”

* * *

 

He gets woken up a little while later by a soft sigh and the smell of Givenchy Amarige tickling at his nose. He lets out a horribly loud sneeze before he’s even managed to open his eyes, but hears the sound of a window cracking and a cool breeze washing in through the room.

“What am I going to do with you, Harold?”

His body relaxes and he blinks himself further awake, looking groggily at Louis where he’s stood at the bottom of the bed with his hands on his hips. As ever, he looks beautiful in tartan kami trousers and camel colour turtleneck, all Stella McCartney, perfectly put together as usual. He’s so soft, fringe swept across his forehead, a bit messy. Harry feels the need to snuggle into his neck and wrap up in him more strongly than ever.

“You don’t actually have to be here,” Harry points out, voice rough and icky with the sore throat and general unpleasant state of his sinuses.

“Give over, course I do,” Louis rolls his eyes, huffing and shrugging out of his Liquor and Poker denim jacket, the one with the paint splatter design on it that Louis had collabed on a couple of years back. He steps out of the pastel green vintage Reeboks Harry bought him as one of many presents for helping him come out, and he is once again taken aback by Louis’ eye for fashion, how effortless it is, how proud he is of him for how far he’s come.

“You look so fucking high right now,” Louis snorts and Harry groans, shoving his face in the pillow and flipping him the bird. He’s heavily jostled however, when a weight drops onto the bed and there’s warmth seeping into his bones. “C’mon, babe, get some more sleep and we’ll eat when you wake up next.”

Louis’ voice is gentle and gravelly and it acts like an aphrodisiac as Harry instinctively latches onto him, Louis’ arms going around him where Harry buries his face in his collar bones and fingers softly card through his hair, gathering it up again and putting it in a more secure bun, the air on his neck so relieving he could cry.

He automatically feels better, his head clearer, his chest looser.

And it’s not long before he loses himself to his dreams again.


	16. Chapter 16

Afternoon approaches both quickly and slowly as the chill in the air becomes more prominent. Leaves are scattered across the venue carpark, a cluster of muddy browns and vibrant oranges, damper in some places than others. Autumn’s carefully approaching thaumaturgy casts swirls of discernible breath as it escapes from dry lips and Louis shifts from one foot to the other, tugging his black denim jacket in further around himself, rubbing a reddened cheek against the fur of the collar.

There’s about three hours until Harry’s first tour performance and Louis thinks he might be the more nervous one.

He tries to let the cold hard tarmac under the soles of his black Vans ground him, and rubs at the tip of his stiff nose, huffing and crouching, lighting the pre-rolled cigarette between his two fingers. The light pink nail varnish catches his eye briefly as his thumb sparks the lighter wheel and he regrets not wearing gloves because he can hardly feel his fingers.

He can see a gathering of people chatting animatedly, but in hushed tones, about twenty feet away near the metres and he’s very conscious of the way they keep glancing over at him, suspecting they’ve already taken a few sneaky pictures of him to let social media know he’s in Sheffield for tour date number one.

Eventually, he gets tired of the movement out of the corner of his eye and rolls his eyes, gesturing with his free hand for them to come over.

“Alright, love?” he remarks, smirking only a little as they approach, one of the girls looking particularly apprehensive. She nods but doesn’t say anything. One of the two lads with them looks him up and down before pursing his lips.

“You’re Louis Tomlinson, right?”

“Right you are, mate.”

“Harry’s boyfriend?”

Louis swallows as discreetly as possible. Not really. He and Harry are getting very close now, and he knows that’s where the whole thing is headed, but he doesn’t want to confirm it to a couple of random fans hanging out in a car park.

“We’re good friends, babe,” he says neutrally, but the taller girl stood next to the timid one smirks back at him and he wets his lips, shaking his head, ducking it for a second before lifting it again. The other lad that hasn’t spoken yet is filming him.

“Are you excited for the concert?”

“Buzzin!” he grins, “s’gonna be awesome. You guys got good seats?”

“Nosebleeds,” the quieter girl admits, and he smiles gently at her, tilting his head a bit and toking on his cig, “but we don’t care. It’s the music that’s important.”

“Absolutely,” Louis agrees with her, and she blushes a bit at the validation.

“What’s your favourite song on the album, Louis?” the lad that’s filming asks and he shrugs, curling in on himself a bit more to preserve some heat as the cold continues to seep in through his clothes.

“Like me a bit of Woman,” he says, and the nervous girl lets out an involuntary snort and he playfully narrows his eyes at her.

“Cheeky little shit.”

She blushes more but the mirth remains in her eyes and he winks at her affectionately. Bless her. They all know he’s gay as the fourth of July.

“What about Sweet Creature?” the confident not-filming lad asks and its Louis’ turn to flush a bit, although he refuses to admit it. At least its keeping his face warm.

“It’s gorgeous, innit?”

“Who’s it about?”

“What makes you think I’ve got a clue?” he raises his eyebrows at tall girl, and she shrugs.

“Dunno, you’re his best friend, aint ya? Thought he might have told you.”

“It’s a pretty self-explanatory song,” Louis allows, and the guy that’s filming outright grins at him.

“Can we get selfies?”

Louis is actually taken aback at that. He hasn’t been asked before, although Harry had warned him it might eventually happen; people asking for his picture and autograph. Louis shoves down the weird sensation in his stomach and pushes up to full height, flipping the bird at tall girl who lets out a breathy laugh at the way his knees audibly crack.

“S’cold, innit?”

“Right,” she nods, humouring him. “You’ve still got your youth.”

“Hush it you, if you still want a picture.”

She just laughs and he smiles at her anyway, taking selfies with all four of them, fixing his fringe where the wind has blown it around a bit. After, he lights the second cig and crouches again.

“You guys been here long?” he asks, because he doesn’t want it to get awkward and he’s still a bit jittery.

“A couple of hours already,” the tall girl says.

“Shit,” he says, “impressive. You lot are gonna get frostbite.”

“Its not that cold,” filming guy pipes and Louis grumbles to himself.

“S’fuckin freezing. I’m going back inside. Enjoy the concert, lads.”

They all say goodbye and ask him to tell Harry they’re excited and proud of him.

* * *

 

Harry is having his hair and make-up done when Louis returns to the arena, and Louis watches as one of the stylists talk a mile a minute and Jeff, who is only here for the first concert of each leg, gives people orders. Liam sits down beside him, the both of them watching as Harry’s vocal coach takes him through warm ups.

“So,” Liam says, “I talked to Zayn this weekend.”

“You talk to Zayn every day,” Louis raises his eyebrows, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back in his chair.

“Yeah, but I _talked_ to him.”

Louis pauses, eyebrows going higher as he turns his head to meet Liam’s eyes.

“Oh?”

“He uh… he said you don’t have a problem with me. I know he was lying.”

Louis swallows and shrugs, looking back at Harry.

“He’s a shit liar.”

“Can I ask why?”

“Listen, Liam,” Louis sighs, fingers tapping out a nervous rhythm on his own elbow, “I don’t have a problem with you that’s going to be a problem for you and Z. I don’t give a shit about anything other than him being happy. If that’s what you make him, I’m good. So stop tripping around me like I’m a grenade that’s going to go off.”

“I – this doesn’t even really have anything to do with how I feel about Zayn,” Liam insists, finding his courage. “Believe it or not, I actually like you, Louis. I respect you. And I’m not really sure why you don’t like me.”

“Christ,” Louis huffs, feeling increasingly awkward, “I do like you, you twat. But I lo- look, Harry’s my best friend. And you’re just… part of the machine that makes things harder for him when it shouldn’t be. I know you care about him, but so do I and my issue is with your profession.”

Liam thinks for a few seconds, seemingly choosing his words carefully before he answers.

“Louis,” Liam says slowly and far more solidly this time, “my job is to make things easier for Harry. Its legitimately what he pays me for. I don’t think you’ve looked into this enough. I’ve been putting pressure on my superiors to let Harry come out since I signed my contract. They tried to have me fired more times than I can count. The only reason they didn’t manage it was because Jeff kept intervening on Harry’s behalf.”

There’s a long, drawn out silence whilst Louis lets the new information sink in.

“If I promise to stop being an asshole, will you promise not to let me be one?”

“Huh?”

“Call me out on my shit, Liam,” Louis sighs, “I’ve been an idiot and I need to check my own behaviour, I know that. But sometimes I miss it and you have to call me out for it sometimes. I’m sorry, mate. I’m just…”

“Protective,” Liam smirks, “I know the feeling.”

Louis snorts and runs a hand through his hair, eyes still on Harry where he jumps up and down, ringing his fingers out to get rid of the excess energy and adrenaline.

“I love him.”

“He knows,” Liam grins, nudging Louis’ shoulder softly. “You might need to say it out loud at some point though. I think he’s a little confused as to where his boundaries are.”

“Touché,” Louis pouts a bit, but knows he’s right as he crosses his arms over his chest and sits back. “Kinda feels like the last hurdle though, y’know? Like that’s it then, there’s no going back. And I trust Harry, I do. But its fucking terrifying. It almost destroyed me last time.”

“It’s different,” Liam says, “now, I mean. It’s different because you’re different. You both are. And I reckon that’s the distinctive point.

If something is still intense as it was to start with when the people involved have changed as much as you and Harry have, after so much time, it’s real and it’s not going away. The decision you have to make is, are you willing to spend the rest of your life knowing that no other person will ever be as important to you as Harry is, and not be with him? Because that’s a big thing. If you never get back with Harry, every other relationship you have is going to be at least mildly false. Because you won’t love them the way you love him. That’s not fair to anyone, I don’t think. Least of all you and him. You wanted me to call you out on your bullshit?” Liam asks, rapping their knees together to get Louis to look at him properly.

“Yeah.”

“Grow some tits and tell him the truth. Tell him you’re in love with him. God knows he’s madly in love with you.”

And for fuck sake, Louis knows Liam is absolutely right.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I felt like this deserved its own chapter. Its been a long time coming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A reminder that you can follow me on tumblr; my url is thekindofworld over there too.

“That was amazing!” Harry gasps as he comes crashing through the doors of his dressing room, face bright, skin covered in a layer of sweat from performing, eyes shining with happiness and adrenaline, breathless.

“You were amazing, babe!”

“They knew all the words, Lou!” Harry says excitedly, coming to wrap him up in a crushing hug, lifting his feet off the ground and spinning him a bit, laughing. Louis can’t help the infectious joy creeping into his own bones, and he grins as Harry finally lets him up, Louis’ hands remaining on Harry’s waist as he gestures wildly.

“Did you see? I had like… so much fun. I can’t believe that was me. All me. Lou, this is my career! This is what I get to do for a living.”

“I know,” Louis chuckles, nodding, mouth hurting with how widely he’s smiling back. He can’t resist the urge to take Harry’s face in his hands and press a rough, lingering kiss to his forehead.

“I feel like I could run a marathon right now. I want to climb Everest. Can I do that? Do it with me, Louis! Climb Everest with me!”

“After your tour, sweetheart,” Louis laughs again, shaking his head exasperatedly, “maybe you should take a breather first though.”

“A cigarrete,” Harry says, “I want a cigarrete and a cold pint.”

“C’mon then,” Louis says, taking Harry’s hand and leading him back out of the room and down the corridor to the main arena, Harry’s security guard following them as they go. He speaks briefly to one of the staff so they can have pints brought out to them in the smoking area, instead of dealing with loads of fans asking for selfies.

“I can text Li and Z? And Niall? They were all in the audience tonight-”

“No,” Harry says, still buzzing with electricity and excitement, “I only want you right now. This is a big moment and I want to – only you, Lou.”

“Okay,” Louis smiles softly, warmth spreading through every inch of his body, despite the cold of the night and the way their breath is visible in the air as his fingers fumble a bit trying to roll the fags. “No worries. Whatever you want.”

The words are loaded, he knows, and he keeps his eyes on his hands where they finish the cigs. Harry’s long, beautiful fingers still his own though, and Louis finally looks up, mouth still curved into a smile, but brow furrowed, slightly confused.

“I want to kiss you,” Harry admits, voice cracking with emotion and the amount of courage it takes to say that. There’s longing in his eyes, so much desperation, and the sheer elation is still there from the performance, but there’s fear there too. He’s terrified. Just like Louis is.

Then there’s nothing he can do to stop it. He’s hurtling face first over the edge of a cliff but the sensation of being in the air, it’s like nothing he’s ever felt before. He doesn’t hit the ground. He soars forward instead, their lips clashing.

His heart is racing in his chest and the noise Harry lets out the second they collide makes every hair on his body stand to attention, warmth turning to heat that feels like driving a million miles an hour over an endless horizon, like every second of his life so far has been leading up to this.

His hands grip in Harry’s hair and those hands, those gorgeous hands, bunch in the fabric of Louis’ Kappa jumper at the curve of his waist, burning through to light his skin on fire, tugging him forward slightly to stand between Harry’s knees where he’s sat up on the wooden bench.

Everything is indulgence and pure felicity, their bodies pressed together like any sort of space is far too much.

Louis can’t stop his teeth from catching Harry’s bottom lip between them, and Harry keens, the hot shudder of his breath over Louis’ skin static and maddening, hitting his bloodstream, incalescence flooding downward, making him slightly dizzy. Harry’s arms thread around Louis’ middle however, steadying him, always making him lose his footing and then keeping him upright, beautifully contradicting.

His own arms come up around Harry’s shoulders however, breathing heavy and humid between them. He turns his head slightly as their lips re-join and Harry’s tongue gets involved, making Louis short circuit for a second before he throws himself into it again, back arching forward to press himself closer.

By the time the kiss starts to slow and become sweet, softer, the biting turning to gentle nips, hands loosening like the come down from a high he’d almost forgotten, Louis begins to remember that this is incredibly risky.

They’re in a public place. Somewhere Harry just performed for two hours in front of twenty thousand people.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Louis huffs as their foreheads drop to settle against one another, arms still tightly entwining them, rain starting to mist in the soft breeze around them, cooling their skin.

“Hmmm.”

Louis knows Harry is smiling even though his eyes are closed, and he lets out a small, shaky, slightly delirious laugh. He’s still half hard in his jeans, and if he’s not mistaken, Harry’s in pretty much the same state.

“I just… fuck, Styles. I swear I get drunk on you every time we do that.”

“It’s been five years, Louis,” Harry giggles a bit, moving to bury his face in Louis’ neck, nuzzling at his pulse point and sending a shiver along his spine, still sensitive.

“Yeah, and?”

“Nice to know I can still make you a little euphoric.”

“Piss off,” Louis huffs, turning his head to nip at the shell of Harry’s ear, making him jolt a bit and tremor. “You know exactly what you do to me, you little shit.”

“Yeah,” Harry says, his voice still low and rough and a little wasted, but smug, “s’nice to feel it though, y’know? Good to be reminded properly.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Louis deadpans, “but you’ll have to get off me unless you think it’s a good idea for me to bend you over this bench and fuck the brains out of you in this courtyard.”

“ _Louiiiiiiiiis_ ,” Harry whines against his ear, bucking a little before Louis pries himself away a few inches, the movement almost killing him, although remains stood between his knees as one of the bar staff bring out their drinks.

“Cheers, love,” Harry grins at her, and Louis has to purse his lips to hide the smirk as her eyes clearly note their dishevelled, flush demeanours.

“You made me drop the cigs,” Louis says, rummaging in his back pocket for his baccy pouch again.

“Awh,” Harry says, patting Louis’ boner in feigned sympathy, “sorry, baby.”

Louis growls at him, narrowing his eyes, feeling his arousal spike again. The endearment still sends a voltaic jolt down his spine. He leans in again and teeths the tip of Harry’s nose. He laughs, light and beautiful, the sound scattering on the air like magic.

“I hate you.”

“Nah,” Harry winks at him, nibbling on his own lip and sniffing in the fond way he reserves just for Louis, running his ring clad hand through his hair to push it out of his face, “you love me.”

Its edged with a teasing accusation, but a slight hesitancy at the same time and Louis swallows hard, leaning into his space again and smiling hazily.

“Yeah,” he says, “I really fucking do.”

Harry’s answering smile is like lightening, so bright and intense Louis wonders how it hasn’t physically scarred him yet.

“Hmmm,” Harry says, pressing a quick peck to Louis’ mouth, “good, because I love you too.”


End file.
